small meltdown

Another reason this is somewhat dangerous; the end is near, and I'm burning the candle at both ends.

A great little saying, but I'm starting to feel it, with four projects on the stove, all burners tapped. I'm doing a major edit on Detours, writing Where Is Fielder Walsh?, reading through The War On Emily Dickinson, and plotting The Colours of Planes.

Today I did two of the four, yesterday a bit on each. Yesterday when I went to bed I felt out of sorts, tired and emotionally drained. Tonight I'm just tired, which is better than also being emotionally drained.

It's a funny situation, because I know I'm doing just what I'm supposed to be doing, only a case of asking how high when being told to jump. Really, it's about trust. What can be accomplished, how far I will allow myself to go; pretty far, but at times I also feel wrung out, like why? Why do I do this, for what, for whom? Not for self, which sucks at times, because everyone would like a little pat on the back, but really, this is not about me.

Which qualifies everything. If this isn't about me, and I'm willing to give it my all, trust until the cows come home then I have to accept being wrung, like a rag, aware it might hurt, it might not feel so great, but neither will it kill me.

It really won't.

It might make me a wee bit crusty, but really it shouldn't. I need to remember this, that no matter how tired or useless I feel, what needs to happen will, what needs to be written or edited or plotted or looked over WILL be all those things.

And I don't need to ask why or what for. All I need to do is JUMP!