About a month and a half ago I was having a really bad day. I had time to myself and was attempting to "work," whatever that had come to mean in my life. Emailing people telling them that I was a good and smart person and a decent writer with experience, whatever. I don't know. I'd written one purely informational type email to a reporter at a newspaper that shall remain unnamed (The New York Times) and had received a rather curt and unpleasant email back. I mean, it was just so uncalled for, this email. I'd gotten her name from an acquaintance and was simply introducing myself in a polite manner, and her response, which, in essence implied that I didn't know what I was talking about with regards to journalism or anything, made me feel like I should go home and turn on a soap opera and just get started on dinner. Not that there's anything wrong with that.
So I did go home and sat on the couch feeling kind of low. If my life had been a movie, an agent would have called me up at that very moment and explained that he wanted me to write a memoir, which would, obviously, become a bestseller. A music montage would begin (maybe Vampire Weekend or The French Kicks?) and I'd open my computer, look at the blank screen, tuck my messy hair behind my ear and start typing. Publication. Fabulous book tour. Interview on Oprah. Roll credits.
That's not what happened, but amazingly, something much more realistic (obviously because, well, it actually occurred) did. I got a call from the editor of a local paper who wanted to go ahead with a story I'd proposed, and that was such good news, because the story I'd proposed is exactly the kind of thing I want to write. That story ended up becoming this piece in the New Haven Advocate and I'm now writing a blog for them on motherhood and women's issues. So, ok! Better! Much better!
Despite an improvement in my professional life in recent months, however, I still hate this time of year. I know I should be excited about the prospect of 2010 and all the newness, and I even have a birthday immediately around the corner. But still.
I have a hard time with transitions, something that I've written about before. I don't mean I have a I-need-to-go-to-a-therapist hard time with transitions, I mean that I have to lay there and have J tell me that everything's going to be fine - it's going to be great! - and after a few minutes of a forced pep talk I feel all better. At this time of year, though, I need a few more pep talks than usual. I know a lot of people dread the parties and oversocialization of the holidays. Me? I love those things. It's difficult for me to adjust when it's all over.
But even people who aren't hardwired to be as weirdly extroverted as I am sometimes have a hard time with this dreary portion of the winter season. It's so fucking cold and, I mean, Valentine's Day? Valentine's Day is supposed to get us through? Come ON.
I know this post is all over the place but I think the point I wanted to make is that we all just might be going through this strange period together. And yeah, it's just the Internet, but I like that togetherness. So whether you'd like to comment here on your own feelings about these semi-brutal months, or suffer in silence, I'm so glad you're here.