I Turn Myself Off

Straight off the bat, I feel the need to address the misleading factor of the title to this post. While it completely makes sense, and certainly pertains to what I am about to say, the sexual undertones, or anti-sexual undertones, are many. I just wanted you know that I know it is deceptive. And also, I don't care.

Work exhausts me. Not my body. My body can keep going after work, but my brain is completely wiped out. I don't have a very cerebral job, either. So, why am I so tired? 

It's because I am 'on' at work. I am constantly talking, listening, understanding and trying to problem solve. I am aware of my surroundings and the people within it. These greetings and conversations, some small and uneventful, others deeper and more important, are draining for me. Don't be mistaken. I enjoy them. Well, for the most part I do, the particularly querulous bride I dealt with this morning certainly wasn't the highlight of my day. Still, I do love interacting with others. I genuinely am interested in the things they have to say, what is going on in their lives, and I appreciate the small glimpses I get into these people's existences.

But while I do like conversing and teasing and engaging with others, I am not equipped to do it all day, then go out and do it in the evening. Communicating with people doesn't energize me. 

In fact, it does the opposite. It drains me. 

At the beginning of the day, my battery is full and I am ready to tackle the next eight hours. But, as time passes, as I encounter more people, with each smile, greeting, telephone call, I become weaker. My energy gets used up. Until five o'clock comes around and I am mental-weary, dog-tired, and plum exhausted. At this point, I cannot fathom speaking to another living soul (except animals and the Sidekick). The idea alone of going out for dinner with colleagues or meeting up with friends for drinks is enough to send me to the brink of insanity. After a day of work, I am done. So, I toddle off home, where I can recharge myself for another day. 

People often confuse this need to be alone, this desire for solitude and appreciation of quite as antisocial behaviour, or not being friendly. This isn't the case at all. There just needs to be a certain amount of mental preparation for me in order to socialize on my own time. It does happen. I DO go out, from time to time, but it isn't a daily, or even weekly occurrence. Why? A lot of it comes down to being aware of what I need in order to stay happy and healthy. Because I have to engage at work every single day, I know I must keep my evenings and most of my weekends to myself (and the Sidekick, who thankfully understands how I work-sorta, kinda, maybe). 

On my own time, I turn myself off. 

This is where it might get baffling for some people. I don't need to be at home to turn myself off. I can be many different places  like the theatre, beach, or out in the forest. Anywhere I can be where I don't have to engage with others. Sometimes people walk by my yard when I am gardening and stop to chat. I have to turn myself on for these wandering souls, but it's okay, because I know they are going to go away eventually. For those five minutes I talk to them, I enjoy their company, but I relish the sight of them walking away. 

For a long time, I thought there was something wrong with me because of these behaviours. There isn't, though. I'm just introverted. It's hard for people to understand. How can someone who vlogs and blogs be an introvert? How can someone who is a receptionist be introverted? How can I go out and enjoy people's company and still call myself an introvert? Well, because I am one, and a lot people haven't a clue what being an introvert actually means. 

What I am grateful for is friends and family who understand my ways and my need for downtime. I am lucky I don't have to be turned on with the Sidekick. He doesn't require me to engage with him. We have our life. Our routine. We chat and laugh and act stupid, but I can be 'off' while doing so. This is probably because he himself has introverted tendencies. I am happy I don't have to worry about what I say around him. Well, okay, I kind of do, because he is a Cancer, but for the most part, he doesn't mind the way I am. 

And I don't mind the way I am either. 

And this made me laugh. 

Mindlessness

Last night, I wrote all of six words.

Six.

Impressive? No, not in the least.

Under normal circumstances, mindless television is the key to my creativity. It's something that I can drown out and still know what is going on. Noise is essential to my process. It feels silly writing that. Mostly because, do I even have a process? I usually just sit down and see where the blinking cursor takes me. This book I am trying to finish, let's call it "Ramona" - because that's the title it holds in my writing folder - is giving me a hard time. Fifty-something thousand words into it and struggling to get out the end.

It's rather annoying, really. I know what the final chapter will be, it's just getting there that's been an uphill journey through brambles on a scorching day. This is a bad place to get stuck. Most frustrating, really, when the first forty-five thousand words came spilling forth from my fingertips like they were greased up with butter and going down a slip-and-slide.

Somehow, I got sucked into the mindless television program last night.

And I wrote six words.

Six.

Instead of beating myself up about it, I'm going to try again tonight. If at first you don't succeed, and all those other catchy sayings people love.

At least I have the ability to write. I am fortunate for that. Grateful for my idea factory. The fact my laptop still boots up. And that I have the ability to watch mindless television with there being little repercussion, except another day slipping through my fingers.

Come on, Ramona. End already.

And if you really want to know what the television show was, just send me an email or something.

When It's Not Working

It is so beneficial to know when it's not working. When it's time to stop. Reassess. Put an end to, or take a different route. A lot of us keep chugging along, forcing it, not allowing for change or a different direction.

To be clear, I am talking about writing, but I can see how this can apply to relationships as well. Friendships. Lovers. Siblings. Roommates. Co-workers. Sometimes working, living, loving situations simply don't work. Not the way they are. Sometimes they need to be ended. Other times a tweak, twist or twerk will do. 

In writing, in our novels and stories, the ones we toil over, there are mistakes. We take a left when we are supposed to head on straight through and not pass go. We collect $200 dollars when, in reality, the plot line and character development is fit for jail. In the wee hours of the night, we sit at our computers and shove another horribly clichéd chapter into a novel we are supremely unhappy with.

We need to recognize the signs of failure.

So often, we fear admitting we have made a mistake. It's the feeling of failure. Or realizing we did something wrong. But if we learn to see when things aren't working, we can change it. Shift. Rewrite. Take a character away. Move the setting. Speed up the pace. Slow down the romance. Add more sex. Erase some violence.

But what does failure look like?

When it comes to writing, it's the forced, contrived scenes that feel out of place and disjointed. These aren't working. They don't tie in with the previous chapters and are meandering words strewn across the page in a haphazard fashion, like your pen simply barfed out sentences of its own free will. Or your computer, because who the hell uses a pen anymore? If what you are writing doesn't interest you, it isn't working. If you think there is a better way, then you are failing as a writing. When you dread looking at your manuscript, it isn't working.

Fear is a crazy thing. The fear of rewriting. Of scrapping an entire book and starting again. Or not starting again. Of actually saying, this is not working, and I need to leave it alone. I am not talking about hanging your head and calling yourself a crappy writer after you've penned a terrible paragraph and eaten a box of truffles. No. I mean standing back with an objective eye and seeing it is simply not working.

Since I brought up relationships. It's pretty easy to tell if it isn't working, even though we are trained  to pretend everything is fan-freaking-tastic. The same logistics apply. If you dread going to work, it isn't working. If you aren't interested in what your partner has to say, it isn't working. When you cannot stand the thought of answering your BFF's call, it isn't working. How to fix these? Well, it can be a bit more tricky.

Sometimes change will help. Shaking up the routine. I cannot stress the importance of communication, even though people hate doing it. Talk to your boss, your friend, your lover. They might realize it isn't working either. Just like your main character. Give him or her a talking to, see what they think. Hell, give your secondary characters a verbal powwow as well!

Because I am feeling optimistic and the sun is shining, I think you can put right the wrongs in your novels and love life alike. 97% of the time, I think change can help, another set of eyes, more patience, some seriously intense brainstorming. Keep in mind, fixing things is rarely ever easy or simple. But if you're willing to put the elbow grease in, you can mend the manuscript and the other more emotional stuff.

The key is being able to see when things aren't working. When the verb is still active. Before 'things not working' turn to 'didn't work'. When there is still the chance to fix them.

People tell us it is never too late. This is the biggest lie you will ever be told.

And I'll love you forever.