The Social Hermit

Sigh.

I look at my coffee table; the pile of trade mags - manuscripts, and mandatory readings has become mountainous.

When am I ever going to have the time to get through this all?

I'm beginning to feel overwhelmed. My inbox receives more emails in a day than I can possibly get to...prioritizing has become almost impossible. Despite my best efforts to stay on target; between phone calls, the mundane admin, and going to the gym; it feels like there are never enough hours in the day.

I've bitten off more than I can chew. But since I have no choice but to move forward; I try my best to cut through the mess and masticate whatever I can.

One day at a time...

The problem with writing; besides the procrastination; the isolation, and the lack of concentration -- is that it requires a lot of time to accomplish. Time that non-writers usually allocate to cleaning their house, paying their bills, or socializing.

The very act of writing forces me to neglect the other aspects of my life; like my house, my hobbies, and even friends.

I am a social hermit.

There is little vacancy in my head. I can't possibly write fast enough to get all the scripts, plot points, and stories out on paper. And for now, while they permeate in the folds of my mind -- patiently waiting to be told; the other folds in my mind go unnoticed. Mostly the folds that manage the parts of my life that are tangible.

Even as I sit here and write this little blurb; an idea for a Christmas movie begins to pour out of my left ear. I watch it trickle down my arm; but there's nothing I can do about it. I'm only one person.

God only gave me two hands.

It scares me to think that I may never have enough time to tell all the stories I want to. That they may forever be trapped in the folds of my mind; wasted and withered -- and unappreciated.

So I loathe my talent at the moment. Because I haven't quite grasped the ability to function properly with it. I haven't found that happy medium that allows me to be productive without exhaustion; or removed without negligent. I teeter-totter between the writing and the void of writing. The productive and the absent. The good and the not-so-good.

My past and my future are currently mixed. The dualities are tangled together -- and until I can sort the mess out; I will forever be taking one step forward, two steps back.

So, I take a deep breath; and focus on some of the tasks at hand for the day. I know that it will never be as hard as it is right now; when I'm the only one believing in me -- and the only one willing to roll up their sleeves and help me with the grunt work.

One day I'll have an office, with eager interns and happy creative types willing to help me see my dreams come to fruition.

But today, unfortunately, is not that day.

So, I type. Because, for the moment, that's all that I can do. And I hope that at some point; I will have the infrastructure to see all my dreams come to fruition -- to find the balance that I hunger for; and the peace of mind that I so desperately deserve.