Friday, November 07, 2008
Papa was a rodeo
I used to be a blogger. That was part of my self-imposed job description. I loved it. It was part of who I was. Is it still? These past few months have been really pretty harrowing on a lot of levels. I'm thankful that I still have a job, as do the people around me. Work seems to have sucked up all my words. I'm left with little to none at the end of the day. All I can muster is that one line on Facebook: the status report. A one-sentence blog? Sometimes there's satisfaction to be had in that small space. Not always, though. I tallied up the story count from the past 12 months: 1,000 takes. A little more than that actually. And the more I write, the less they pay me for every story, it occurred to me. My doctor says I'm stressed. I can't really disagree, but is it only stress? Is there something else that's wrong with me? Is he a therapist or a general practitioner? I should make another appointment. Will he spend most of the time talking about how stressed I look again? I got a five-minute chair massage today. It was a little bit rough toward the end, but that's probably because I'm so tense. No harm done, in the end. I need to go again, to the train station. I wish it weren't so late.