Stress and the Mental Bottleneck
First of all, I don't know why I'm stressed. As day jobs go, my current one is a breeze. Contract technical writing for a company that is still developing its product is pretty much a hurry up and wait affair. I have entire stretches of days where I have absolutely nothing work-related to do, leaving me free to do whatever I want as long as my butt is planted in the seat they've assigned me (read: I work on the current WIP).
So we can rule that out. Of course, there is some minor stress attached to the fact that said day job, because it is a contract gig, goes away in seven weeks and right now I have nothing lined up to replace it. I'm working on it, though, and trying not to let it bother me.
It is summer in central Florida, which is never fun, no matter what the travel geeks say. It's hot, it's humid, it's monsooning one minute and endless, mind-searingly bright, muggy heat the next, it's mosquito all-you-can-eat banquet time, and, oh, did I mention it's hot? But that's old news for any native or long-time resident. We have two seasons in central Florida--summer and not-summer. Sometimes it's hard to tell the difference, though you can usually tell not-summer because the humidity occasionally dips below 50%, meaning you have a rare good hair day. But like I said, we're used to that.
No, I think, when I start drilling down on this, it all comes back to the commute. Okay, for some people, a 35 minute morning, 45 minute (baring accidents) afternoon commute isn't too bad. I personally know a lot of people who drive twice that, but I still hate it, especially since my last job was ten minutes from my house. Throw having to use one of the infamous bridges to cross the Bay in there, and it's just not a winning scenario.
Yeah, I have a super fast car that's a blast to drive, but it's only a blast to drive recreationally. For one thing, it's a manual, which means my left leg often feels like it's going to rupture by the time I get to where I'm going. Sitting in traffic, dodging zombie drivers, white-knuckling the wheel waiting for someone on their cell phone or yelling at their kids or daydreaming to suddenly decide they missed their turn or need to be in the space you're occupying right now regardless of the laws of physics--not so much fun. There are days when I pull into my driveway and thank the powers that be for getting me home in one piece.
Maybe it's a sign of age, but I hate commuting. I hate the pressure of having to be somewhere at a certain time. When I'm not working, I travel around when most of the people who are working are at work. I avoid the the main roads, preferring to use shortcuts I've collected over the years. They may not get me where I'm going any faster, but at least I don't feel like choking someone when I arrive. I've started to notice whenever I get in the car to either go to work or head back home, I start to tense up and develop all manner of nervous, Tourettes-like twitches and ticks, not to mention a near-constant headache.
Life in our ever-shrinking world is already stressful enough. We're constantly under siege from an endless barrage of stimuli, all demanding our undivided attention. It's getting harder and harder to find a few quiet moments to ourselves. And as a writer, that's almost a necessity. For instance, I had planned to work through a pivotal scene I have to write for Red Awakening on my way to work this morning, but alas, that was not to be. The zombie drivers made sure my mind stayed firmly on the road around me.
So, yeah, I think it's the commute causing my current stress. But I still have to get this scene written.
So we can rule that out. Of course, there is some minor stress attached to the fact that said day job, because it is a contract gig, goes away in seven weeks and right now I have nothing lined up to replace it. I'm working on it, though, and trying not to let it bother me.
It is summer in central Florida, which is never fun, no matter what the travel geeks say. It's hot, it's humid, it's monsooning one minute and endless, mind-searingly bright, muggy heat the next, it's mosquito all-you-can-eat banquet time, and, oh, did I mention it's hot? But that's old news for any native or long-time resident. We have two seasons in central Florida--summer and not-summer. Sometimes it's hard to tell the difference, though you can usually tell not-summer because the humidity occasionally dips below 50%, meaning you have a rare good hair day. But like I said, we're used to that.
No, I think, when I start drilling down on this, it all comes back to the commute. Okay, for some people, a 35 minute morning, 45 minute (baring accidents) afternoon commute isn't too bad. I personally know a lot of people who drive twice that, but I still hate it, especially since my last job was ten minutes from my house. Throw having to use one of the infamous bridges to cross the Bay in there, and it's just not a winning scenario.
Yeah, I have a super fast car that's a blast to drive, but it's only a blast to drive recreationally. For one thing, it's a manual, which means my left leg often feels like it's going to rupture by the time I get to where I'm going. Sitting in traffic, dodging zombie drivers, white-knuckling the wheel waiting for someone on their cell phone or yelling at their kids or daydreaming to suddenly decide they missed their turn or need to be in the space you're occupying right now regardless of the laws of physics--not so much fun. There are days when I pull into my driveway and thank the powers that be for getting me home in one piece.
Maybe it's a sign of age, but I hate commuting. I hate the pressure of having to be somewhere at a certain time. When I'm not working, I travel around when most of the people who are working are at work. I avoid the the main roads, preferring to use shortcuts I've collected over the years. They may not get me where I'm going any faster, but at least I don't feel like choking someone when I arrive. I've started to notice whenever I get in the car to either go to work or head back home, I start to tense up and develop all manner of nervous, Tourettes-like twitches and ticks, not to mention a near-constant headache.
Life in our ever-shrinking world is already stressful enough. We're constantly under siege from an endless barrage of stimuli, all demanding our undivided attention. It's getting harder and harder to find a few quiet moments to ourselves. And as a writer, that's almost a necessity. For instance, I had planned to work through a pivotal scene I have to write for Red Awakening on my way to work this morning, but alas, that was not to be. The zombie drivers made sure my mind stayed firmly on the road around me.
So, yeah, I think it's the commute causing my current stress. But I still have to get this scene written.
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