There are some downsides to being a data pack-rat, as well as the obvious up-sides.
I’m in the process of moving to a new house, and the last month has pretty much been dedicated to that project—everything from a new set of floorboards being laid down to finding the best stores near the new place to buy my favourite beverage (grapefruit Perrier). The process is still ongoing, and I’m still going to be paying rent at the old place for some months to come; for example, even after getting rid of nearly all my mass-market paperback novels, there are still a /lot/ of books in the old family library that are still going to have to be shlepped over to the new one, and not a single member of my family has great strength or endurance.
But most of the hard work and planning is done, and life is settling into a new normal: today, I hope and plan to apply for a new library card, do some banking, grab some income tax forms, and just maybe visit the nearby branch of a computer store to upgrade my laptop’s RAM. My sleep schedule is still ridiculous, if I lose 50 pounds I’ll still going to be overweight, asthma sucks… but a lot of the stresses from the old home are just plain gone. I am, as I see it, in about as good a mental state as I’m likely to be in the foreseeable future.
Which means that, barring unexpectable crises, it’s time for me to start writing again. My current plan: When I hit my new local public library today, I’m going to sit down for a while and start going over my partial draft of ‘Extracted’, to both refamiliarize myself with it and to start nudging any details I find that seem to need editing. And, by the time I’ve gone over what I’ve already written, to start finishing writing what I didn’t get around to typing out the last time I worked on the piece.
The main bit of uncertainty around this plan is that I have insufficient data to predict whether, how soon, and how severely I will go through my next bout of more-severe-than-everyday anhedonic depression. I’m hopeful that the release of stress from the old home will make such a bout less likely; but I’m also aware of the statistics that show that the act of moving to a new home adds its own form of stress. Barring low-probability black-swan events, my range of expected mid-term futures runs from going back to my previous levels of depression, all the way up to completing a novel and beginning the brand-new venture of learning about e-publishing.
Over the Hump, and Starting a Return to Normality
There are some downsides to being a data pack-rat, as well as the obvious up-sides.
I’m in the process of moving to a new house, and the last month has pretty much been dedicated to that project—everything from a new set of floorboards being laid down to finding the best stores near the new place to buy my favourite beverage (grapefruit Perrier). The process is still ongoing, and I’m still going to be paying rent at the old place for some months to come; for example, even after getting rid of nearly all my mass-market paperback novels, there are still a /lot/ of books in the old family library that are still going to have to be shlepped over to the new one, and not a single member of my family has great strength or endurance.
But most of the hard work and planning is done, and life is settling into a new normal: today, I hope and plan to apply for a new library card, do some banking, grab some income tax forms, and just maybe visit the nearby branch of a computer store to upgrade my laptop’s RAM. My sleep schedule is still ridiculous, if I lose 50 pounds I’ll still going to be overweight, asthma sucks… but a lot of the stresses from the old home are just plain gone. I am, as I see it, in about as good a mental state as I’m likely to be in the foreseeable future.
Which means that, barring unexpectable crises, it’s time for me to start writing again. My current plan: When I hit my new local public library today, I’m going to sit down for a while and start going over my partial draft of ‘Extracted’, to both refamiliarize myself with it and to start nudging any details I find that seem to need editing. And, by the time I’ve gone over what I’ve already written, to start finishing writing what I didn’t get around to typing out the last time I worked on the piece.
The main bit of uncertainty around this plan is that I have insufficient data to predict whether, how soon, and how severely I will go through my next bout of more-severe-than-everyday anhedonic depression. I’m hopeful that the release of stress from the old home will make such a bout less likely; but I’m also aware of the statistics that show that the act of moving to a new home adds its own form of stress. Barring low-probability black-swan events, my range of expected mid-term futures runs from going back to my previous levels of depression, all the way up to completing a novel and beginning the brand-new venture of learning about e-publishing.