Scratching at my brain fever

Recently, I’ve found myself spending a lot of time wondering why I do the things I do, why I live my life the way I live it. As I approach one month of sobriety (and wonder why I didn’t celebrate one month several years ago), I turn these thoughts over more and more.  There are questions I need to answer, and it’s about time I got my head out of my ass and started answering.

I’ve never claimed to be normal.  I’m just a guy, but I’m screwed up just like every other human out there.  I really want to get to the bottom of my various quirks, though.  I want to know why I freak out if I overcook a chicken breast the slightest bit.  I want to know why not finding a fajita marinade at Whole Foods ruined my entire Sunday.  I want to know why I hate myself everytime I buy something for my own entertainment.

Every now and then, I wonder why I hate going outside, why I feel a sense of doom everytime Shawna says, “It sure is a nice day to go out and do something!”  But I don’t want to go outside!  Why can’t I stay in and write?  Or sleep?  Or just not be outside?  It’s so outside-ish out there!  It’s horrible!

I swear, most of the time it feels like my brain’s on fire, like it’s itching and out of control and I have to do something about it.  But I can’t do anything.  I can only sit perfectly still and hate myself for not doing something!

Couple this with my need to write, and you have a recipe for disaster.  A day of not reaching my desired word count?  Disaster.  The suspicion I’m churning out crap?  Depression.  A friend of mine sells a story, a book, a comic, or a movie?  I’m happy for them, but I feel like a failure.  What have I done lately?  Why am I falling behind?

And the funny thing is, I’m having a great year.  Once I’m allowed to make announcements, it’s going to be incredible.  This is supposed to be my ignition year, and I’m scratching at my brain trying to figure out why I feel so pathetic half the time.

So my project for the rest of the year, in addition to all the writing and home stuff I’m determined to do, is to get my head screwed on straight.  I need to become functional.  Something close to normal.

And I need to stop scratching at my brain, wondering why it’s on fire.

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