On Schedules and Being Sick

Tonight, I write not out of any expressed desire to create or compose, but because it is my solemn duty to do so, by decree of this taskmistress known as the deadline. Or maybe it's more of a quota?

It was my intention to write something yesterday as well, but by the time I was in a position to do anything of the sort, this exceedingly miserable illness had already begun to deplete my every cell and fiber. In fact, rather than spend my Halloween evening going to a costume party (or any kind of party, really) I instead sprawled out on the couch with a movie and a nagging, on-going worry to the tune of "is it hot in here, or is it just me?" Except for real, not as some attempt to self-compliment my own rugged good looks.

Well, even though I'm feeling like trash, at least my ego is healthy. Ha ha.

Hard to believe that November is here already. NaNoWriMo starts today and it's a mark of these dark times that I can barely convince myself to update this blog, which will means my month-long writing project is off to a great start. I'll have to make sure I'm extra super productive this week to compensate. Shouldn't be too hard, it's not like I have two papers due this week.

Oh wait.

I can't decide what's more annoying. The fact that Daylight Savings Time exists at all, or the fact that Arizona ignores it, so our clocks remain the same but the rest of the world changes so it's always awkward when nobody knows exactly what time other people are on. Did Daylight Savings Time even happen yet?

It's amazing how unfocused I am at the moment. Not even 300 words yet and my mind is wandering, I'm trying to scrape at the bottom of the empty barrel that is my brain at this moment, and even though there's really a list of things that I should be doing with my time (getting those papers ready to turn in, for example) all I can think about is how much I want to collapse on my bed, flip on Netflix and just zone out.

You know, I don't think writers, the ones who make this thing their full-time job, anyway, often get credit for how much hard work it really is. There's this sense, I think, that being a writer means waking up whenever you want, working in your underwear, and just generally doing whatever you please, somewhat like a wild animal. And that's just not the case, which is not to say that I'm a full-time writer yet, but this blog (and projects like NaNoWriMo) have shown me how much it absolutely sucks at times to have a schedule that you need to follow.

At other jobs, if you're not feeling your A game, you call in sick. You say "not today," and your boss says, "sure, whatever," and then you carry on with the business of not feeling well. But when you're writing, the schedule doesn't give a shit that you have a temperature. The schedule only understands that you're behind, that you were supposed to have 45 posts by now and you only have 43. The schedule only sees the fact that you have a goal of 50,000 words in 30 days and so far, you have 0 words.

Of course, one might say that the schedule is set by the man (or woman, to be fair) and so should be subject to that man's (or woman's) will. But we're perfectionists, I think, we creative folk; at the very least, we're some kind of crazy and so the idea of changing the schedule is about as appealing as changing the rules to football in the second half because your team is down. Incoherent sports metaphor aside, you just feel like one shouldn't do that.

And with that poignant thought to leave you with, I'm going to sign off for the night and crawl into bed, in the hope that tomorrow is a better and more productive day.