If 2017 was a Gossip Girl plot, it would be the disastrous and utterly illogical moment Dan Humphrey was exposed as Gossip Girl. Or maybe it would be the time my lord and savior Blair Waldorf dated Dan Humphrey. Okay, 2017 was just straight-up Dan Humphrey, a pretentious social climber, who cheated on Serena van der Woodsen and her long legs. And no, I don’t just say this because of the whole Trump situation. Also no, I don’t just say this because I actually liked (okay, loved and repeatedly listen to) Taylor Swift’s new album, which means I’ve liked her last two albums so I’m probably a fan now even though I don’t want to be.
For me, 2017 was as gross as Dan Humphrey’s teeny peeny because of some personal things like family members in the hospital or mental hospital or jail. Since August, I had to call 911 twice and make life or death decisions for an estranged family member, who was in a medically induced coma. I’ve always felt like the amount of crazy shit that happens to Meredith Grey is unrealistic, but 2017 was like, ‘Hey bitch, you Meredith now.’ Also, I’m not talking about my second cousin or great-aunt, because isn’t it the worst when someone is like wah-wah-wah-Facebook-status about their electrician’s son’s best friend’s girlfriend? No, I’m talking about people in my every day life or people with whom I have close familiar ties.
To be clear, I’m obviously lucky that I’m in good mental and physical health. I am extremely thankful for that. Though, these bumps and bumps and bumps in the road have made my head a pool full of suckiness. I’m not talking about the days when I just wanted to rewatch Gilmore Girls and pretend everything could be solved with diner food. Instead, I’m talking about the days when I wanted to be as productive as Reese Witherspoon, but I was drained of my normal creativity, intelligence, or confidence. Being preoccupied with emotional bull-ass-shit can leave little or no room for thinking creatively, being intelligent, and employing resourcefulness. Sure, I still wrote my articles for work, but my writing was as flat as my chest in the fifth grade. And that was really flat. This feeling of mentally running in place brought me back to high school.
Growing up, my home was volatile. I kept spoons in the freezer to soothe my swollen eyes after a bad night spent crying myself to sleep. Only my eyes are super sensitive, so they would still be swollen in school the next day and I’d have to pretend it was my allergies. It was a whole thing. The constant emotional turbulence took over every aspect of my life. I was too preoccupied with my anxiety, my unstable home, and swollen eyes to full apply myself. Of course, this anxiety and preoccupation is part of going up to some degree. But I swear that moving out of my toxic childhood home made me a whole new person. I no longer needed an endless supply of frozen spoons. Instead, I became a vegetarian, started writing, published poetry and prose in legitimate publications, and I read The Age of Innocence and I fucking loved it. It was like my mind had so much more… space.
By the way, shout out to any teen babies with daddy issues, and heads full of frozen spoons, Natty Ice cans, and weekend plans. Being Marissa Cooper doesn’t last forever and you’ll all be queens one day.
Okay, back to my point. I’m not a scientist or doctor or really anything at all, but I do think emotional stress takes up actual space in your head. When you’re dealing with something, you’re unable to fire on all cylinders, which can be crippling for someone who is constantly trying to be creative. Thankfully, I haven’t really had to deal with being emotionally preoccupied in a long time. And so, I’ve had the luxury of giving 100% of my brainpower to my writing. That is, until this August. But that’s cool. I’m an adult and I can handle things. I accept that my writing suffered for the latter part of 2017 and I finished the year without meeting some of my major goals. Because of that, I’m posting my 2018 goals on here so I can be held accountable by whoever actually reads this blog. Um, just me. LOL. But still, it’s nice to hold yourself accountable, so here they are:
- Finish my book proposal. Get an agent. Sell said book proposal. And all this hopefully before my birthday so I can be happy about turning 29. This is lofty AF, but I’ve been working on this project for over two years so it’s time to ask for a payday, baby.
- Draft my fiction novel that I’ve been thinking about forever and I love and I can’t wait to write and blah blah blah. I’ve written several screenplays and short stories, but never a novel. So it’s something brand new and really big and really scary.
- Sell freelance pieces to esteemed publications and maybe start writing for a new publication. Big internet goals, y’all.
- Start writing poetry again. Poetry is a true love of mine, but I’ve gotten away from it. Why? Well, publishing poetry never made me any money and, like, bills.
Obviously, there are other goals like taking fitness classes so my thighs look like they did when I was 7 years old and doing face masks so my skin looks like it did when I was 7 years old. You know, the usual. But the above are my major career goals of 2018.
I know I’m not the only one for whom 2017 blew hot chunks of monkey vomit. It was the Dan Humphrey of years. Or maybe even the, HORROR OR ALL HORRORS, Jenny Humphrey of years. Though, I’m saving that title for, like, the worst year ever. You know, like when we all get nuked. To everyone out there, I hope your 2018 is the Blair Waldorf of years. At the very, very least, we can all hope for a Dorota or a Lily van der Woodsen Bass Humphrey Bass year.
Also, it’s not just me who feels like they are less productive, creative, and intelligent when they are dealing with emotional yip yap, right? I mean, it may be just me. I’m an emotional little writer woman and that’s just who I am. If you’re someone who is like ‘Emotional issues and headspace aren’t a thing, shut up and stop complaining’, maybe you’re right. But if you’re someone who also feels rundown when shit blows up, I feels you. We should all take the day off, drink two bottles of Pinot Noir, and rewatch Gilmore Girls. Or at the very least, we should simply learn to not beat ourselves up for being less productive. We ain’t got all our normal headspace. And yes, that’s a scientific fact.
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