The Lazy Rant or This Shit is Hard

So I’m sort of entering a few days of depression. I can just feel this shit manifesting itself in me.  I’m feeling down, frustrated, easily irritated and totally overwhelmed.  As I’ve probably said before, there are simply too many things I want to do and not nearly enough time.  It sucks!  Something has to give.  I’m still cranky about work and I’m also sort of cranky about my novel because it’s so much work to promote my newly published book through blogging, Twitter, Facebook, book reviews, author interviews, blog hops, etc etc as well as trying to write a second novel, as well as having a full time job, trying to eat decent and get some exercise.  Never mind some veg out time for reading or watching mindless TV.  Come on!  Life, get real, you jerk.  This is annoying!

I’m not really sure what the point of this post is.  It’s sort of a mini rant that’s too tired to get on its feet and yell about stuff.  So I’m ranting while lying down, I’m a multi-tasking ranter who is ranting while relaxing at the same time.  Talk about lazy.  Anyway, I never really thought that writing a book and self publishing it would be easy, but no one said it was THIS hard.  It’s like when I built my own house last year (yes seriously my husband and I built our own house with our own two hands and I’ve got new skills that cannot unfortunately pay the bills.  We did hire some stuff out, but seriously I mean it, it was us and my parents, slaving for 1.5 years!)  At first it was all like, oh yeah sure!  We can DO this!  But as soon as we really got started and I realized that I was the contractor who had to figure out schedules and when to order materials and when/how to pay people and how to budget and make decisions and AND actually show up every weekend and physically work my butt off while figuring out how to build my uber complicated house, then I was like, oh shit, what did we do?

Looking back I wonder how I ever thought I could do it?  I mean, in the end, I (we) did do it, but it was so stressful and it ate at me and left me tired and exhausted.  Was it worth it? Hmmmm…yes as long as you don’t ask me to do it again because now I know better.  (I do love my house though.  Fackin Love ya’ll)  But for some reason I was incredibly naive to think it would be easy.  Not that I did think that per se, but I don’t think I ever truly imagined what it would entail in every exhausting detail.  I never imagined the amount of wires we’d have to string for the privilege of having electricity (ever heard of it?  It’s the beez kneez) or the amount of wood we’d have to cut to build just one wall or even what it takes to install one light fixture (and we have like…25 of them) or even how I would spend my life in unattractive work clothes in Home Depot.  Sexy.  So, yes, I was stupid.  Dumb.  An idiot.  It’s like you can never full appreciate what something like that or like publishing your own novel is like until you do it.  Why are we humans so incapable of fully imagining what something will be like before we embark upon it?

And publishing my own novel is the same sort of stupidity.  However, that bold statement being said, I would not take this back.  I would not go back to being a struggling writer wishing I had the guts to publish.  And I won’t quit promoting and trying to get the word out.  All I’m saying is that I’m freaking exhausted and my novel is plaguing me.  Like the bubonic plague.  It’s a good thing.  I won’t die though.  So really, this is just a vent that I have forced upon your eyes and into your brain and I apologize.  But boy do I feel good now.  Thanks therapist and no, I’m not paying you for the pleasure.  😉