I'm apparently not one of them. At least on the blog/writing front. Too much, too soon. Or something like that. I expect things to be the ideal and when they aren't... the whole world falls apart. At least that's how it seems. I still have all these hopes, dreams, and goals floating around in my head, but other things keep crowding them out. I'm not making them a priority, like I used to. And it all sits there in some kind of chaotic whirlwind of neglect and entropy.
It doesn't help that I read other blogs--the people I used to follow before my break--and feel left behind. Many of them started out at the same time and place that I did. Now they have followers, and agents, and book deals. Okay. Not all of them. But a lot of them. And it feels like I'm not really a writer after all. Like I don't have what it takes because I'm not making any headway, or even any time right now to really be serious about it.
It's hard to feel like I'm getting anywhere at all when the few 100 words I'm able to type at all are done one-handed while holding a two-month old and supervising two young children. It's hard not to feel like something of a failure when I can't even keep my house clean, let alone do anything for fun or for myself. And it's really hard to not feel bad about feeling bad.
Sorry for the downer, friends. It's been one of those weeks. I promise to be back to myself soon.