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March 09, 2006
The Book That Never Will Be
The good news: Clara Jane's non-napping daycare delimma has been solved. Today, the director proposed that we move Clara Jane to the next level. Even though she'll be 6 months younger than the youngest kid in the next class, they think she's ready. A part of the problem seems to be that she's getting bored with her current class. So, not only is the problem solved, but I get to have that "heh - my kid's skipping a grade" gloatfest.
The bad news: This writing business? Sucks. Shall we replay the past four weeks? On Feb. 16, I was writing crap that wasn't fit to decorate a roll of Charmin, so I called it quits. The next week I couldn't get my shit together. Last week, I was too busy watching my stomach lining exit my body to write. And then there's today.
I got off to a great start with the news of Clara Jane's class advancement. I'd been concerned that I was going to bump heads with the director, which would have me in a non-writing tizz all day. Once I knew that fear would go unfulfilled, I figured I was in for a great writing day.
Here's the problem, though. I don't know how to shut my mouth. I've got this great coffeehouse I love, but so do a lot of other people. Most Thursdays, I know at least half the people there at any given time. You know verbose I am? Well, I'm like that in person, too. A motor mouth, as I have been called by my family since I was, well, fetal, I think. So, Thomas stops by the table, and we chat for a few minutes. Christine comes by, and we gab for a bit. Then Thomas' 4-year-son stops by to draw pictures with me and talk about his new baby sister. Oh, and there's that guy I met two weeks ago, when I was spying on his laptop screen and gave him a job lead similar to the monster.com ad he was reading. And hey! There's Jane! I'll just smile and wave. Or, we can chat for a bit. Hey there, look at the time. We've been talking for three and a half hours. I've written less than two pages, and I've essentially paid for a day of daycare so I can run my mouth for hours without being hindered by my child.
The sick feeling hit my gut around 1:45 this afternoon, when I realized I had written less than two pages in the four hours I'd been there. If I'm not running my mouth, I can usually knock out 12-15 pages in that amount of time. What the fuck am I doing? If I was working a "real" job and I spent the entire day running my mouth and doing 11% of the work I know I'm capable of doing, I'd be in serious trouble. Doing that four weeks in a row, and I would fire my own sorry ass.
I've come to a frightening realization over the past week and a half, and today drove it home: although I fancy myself a free spirit who doesn't care what others think, I somehow spend a stupid amount of time and energy trying to please others via conversation. Being the social butterfly to every semi-familiar face when I know I should be working. Taking time away from my family and myself so I can pounce on emails or the phone, answering whenever anyone beckons, taking care of whatever the mailer or caller needs, taking care of them before I take care of myself. And for what? So I can wind up feeling used, neglected, and completely strung out, all because I make myself entirely too available.
Two weeks ago today, I talked so much that, by 11 PM, I literally had no voice left. I could muster a slight croak, and that was it. I chit-chatted with one of Clara Jane's teachers for 15 minutes when I dropped her off. Gabbed with everyone at the coffeehouse. Called my mom. Called B. Called my mom again. Butted in to give a job lead to that guy at the coffeehouse, and wound up visiting off an on for a few hours. Talked to Clara Jane's other teacher for 15 minutes when I picked her up. Went to dinner with Angela. Came home and returned a call to my neighbor, which drug on for over two hours.
I talked until I felt like my throat was bloody and I don't remember a goddamn thing I said. I doubt if anyone else does, either. I'm starting to think that the only way for me to find my real voice, and really use it, is for me to snip my fucking vocal cords.
So, I've spent my evening trying to figure out why I do this to myself, why I'm sabotaging my writing, particularly, in favor of running my fucking mouth. I don't have any definitive answers, just more tidbits that make me so angry and disappointed in myself.
When I was a kid, I loved being alone. My favorite thing in the world was to hole up in my room with my books, records and typewriter. I did two things in that room: I created, and I absorbed. I was voracious with my music and books, loving nothing more than getting lost in the worlds they created, then working to create my own worlds. I started writing my own novel when I was in fifth grade, and I made a surprising amount of progress.
But being a 10-year-old hermit is frowned upon, and I was highly encouraged to be social. I understand this, and I am thankful that my parents didn't allow me to turn into that pasty kid who doesn't know how to interact with the other humans. But I think I overdid it. I went too far in the other direction, allowed myself to become too gregarious. I've always loved the attention I've gotten from my personality, people calling me things like vivacious, sparkly, bright, friendly. Who wouldn't love being called those things. But the thing is, by going too far into this social realm, I inadvertantly created a world I don't think I belong in. A world where I don't know how to say no. Don't know how to balance my need to take care of myself, and my need to take care of everyone else.
It's a sick feeling, realizing that I've let my need for attention, and my need to be noticed, stomp the fuck out of the introverted person I naturally was. Now, I want both - the attention, the love, the friends, but also the solitude and the company of myself. I don't know how to balance the two, to the point where I feel like I've completely forgotten how to make that connection with myself. I'm too busy looking around the room to make sure I'm not snubbing anyone, only to realize that I'm snubbing myself.
I've let this need to please come before my husband and my child. I've let it come between me and my writing. I've given my ability to make people happy the power to make me miserable. Or maybe I'm using it as a buffer between myself and fulfillment. It's a cushy little pillow that protects me from the intensity of success and the power of the incredible love of my family. If I feel the greatness of the love and the success, I won't be able to stand it if I lose them. So instead, I forge these passing little bonds, things to distract me from what's really important, feeding on people telling me how generous I am, how they can't thank me enough as they take what I offer, leaving me wondering where's my share, too stupid to understand that I willingly gave it away.
This must change, and it must change now.
Posted by Robin at March 9, 2006 05:32 PM
Comments
Well, I felt guilty enough before. Good thing I still luvya!
I was going to write about my neediness for acceptance (and adult female interaction) and how *I* couldn't shut up long enough to take my leave so we could both get stuff done. I actually intended to sit and work on my stuff while you worked on your stuff in companionable silence when I grabbed my briefcase.
Can I be your codependent friend? Too late.
Did we really talk for that long? Holy hell.
Posted by: Jane at March 10, 2006 10:32 AM
What about controling the situation by writing at the library and then visiting the coffee house or vise versa.
Posted by: Diane at March 10, 2006 11:05 AM
...or switching coffee shops every week so you don't know anyone really but still have an outlet in a strange to chat with if you're really needing a break.
Posted by: carrster at March 10, 2006 11:50 AM
i so get this.....feeding the distractions to prevent fulfillment...yep just another dang thing we have in common, my sister.
ahhhh let me circle the wagon another 400 times before i get on, when i know damn well where it is going is where i want to go. oh yeah, i know i'm the only one who can get myself on with things, but it has to be at my own miserable snails pace and i make damn sure i have what it takes not to make it happen.
i sooo get this.
Posted by: pkb at March 10, 2006 12:48 PM
I so understand this. I want to be the kind of person who can do writing at home but I get distracted by my husband and kids, but if I do it at work, I get distracted by everyone at work, or if I'm in a coffehouse, I talk to people. The only way I've ever been able to get anything done was to get a carrell in the university library and not stray from it. If I strayed, I talked to people. Or else, go to my office at 1:00am.
Posted by: Katya at March 10, 2006 01:13 PM
*ahem* I meant "stranger" not just 'strange' (sheesh)
HAPPY FRIDAY!!!!
Posted by: carrster at March 10, 2006 01:42 PM
Sounds like you're well on your way to a remedy, Robin. Good work.
Posted by: Summer at March 10, 2006 02:26 PM
I hope that you get things figured out soon. . .
Maybe you should have some alone time.
Or if you could afford to, a road trip all by yourself. . .to rediscover yourself.
Posted by: Johanna Cagan at March 10, 2006 03:41 PM
Oh boy can I relate to this. I had a job with the power company where I would come thisclose to getting my ass into a sling because of my need to socialize. Work related conversation, non-work related...didn't matter. Everyone wanted to have my time and I freely gave it. I liked the feeling of power it gave me - people seeking out my attention. I actually once said to my boss who was nudging me to stop with so much conversation "Hey, I can't help it if I'm popular!". It was said tongue in cheek and she took it that way as well but I was doing nothing to deny others' access to me. I know I would have gotten canned if it wasn't for the fact that when I was working I was putting out more work than anyone else in the office and I had the stats to back me up.
I know I did it because at that time I was married to my first husband and I got no attention from him at all. I was starving for attention and got my fix at work.
You'll find the balance. I have faith in that.
Posted by: Dixie at March 10, 2006 06:01 PM
Believe me, I've considered all the solutions offered. The idea of giving up my coffee house makes me feel sick, though. For one thing, it's walking distance from daycare. For another, it's home. when I'm able to shut my mouth and work, I get more work done there than any other place I've found. The idea of running over creation in search of a new place doesn't do much for me. Besides, this really isn't a coffeehouse problem; it's a Robin problem. And Dixie nailed it on the head. "I can't help it if I'm popular." Boy howdy, there it is, right there in black and white.
Posted by: Poppy at March 10, 2006 08:26 PM
Do you think it could be a procrastination thing too? I know with me, when I was working on my master's paper, I'd find every excuse under the book to do anything EXCEPT write. ("Gee, that counter I haven't washed in 4 years looks dirty..." ... you get the idea.) I always did my best work under the gun, although it would kill me to get to that point.
I'm a little better now, because otherwise I think it WOULD have killed me from all the stress. Best of luck!
Posted by: Nancy at March 10, 2006 09:26 PM
It's a my lack of self-control thing...and Robin's "porchlight" qualities...SO, so enticing to a moth.
Porchlight Poppy.
Thursday is not my normal day, it got re-scheduled this week, so my big mouth shouldn't be a future problem & I'll tell Ms. MDO Director to schedule us for different days if you do summer, too.
Posted by: Jane at March 11, 2006 09:46 AM
It's too bad we can't switch personas briefly for as long as it takes you to finish your sure-to-be brilliant book. I'm the opposite of a social butterfly, maybe a social killer bee or something. I've not only failed to connect with any of the other moms whose children attend preschool with my son, I've managed to alienate and piss off the one mother who makes it her hobby to talk shit about the other mothers.
I like to think that I'm open and warm and inviting, but yesterday I was sitting by myself reading a book and an acquaintance approached me, saying "Mind if I sit here?" I can only surmise that I gave her a death glare instead of a warm, welcoming smile because she froze in her tracks and muttered, "I think I left something in my car," before turning and fleeing out the door. Maybe I could come and sit with you while you write and my withering glance will kill any and all potential conversations.
Posted by: Ginny at March 12, 2006 01:06 PM
