Self-worth and Productivity

The journey to better health is a slow one if you ask me. Every morning I wake up and ask, “Are we there yet?” Of course, the answer is always, “Not quite. Just be patient.” For once in my life, I want to hear the driver say, “We’ve arrived!”

This morning feels like a very good day, but not an arrival. Usually, by this time when I’m writing, I’d be asleep on a normal day over the past week. About a hundred words, followed by a two-hour nap.

Getting enough sleep is certainly an issue. Not just sleep, but restful sleep. It doesn’t help when I’m exhausted by arguing with characters in one of my books about what comes next in the story. Last night, it was Stocks & Blondes. After my initial deep sleep of an hour or two, I spent the next three hours trying to remember exactly where I’d left off in the writing and what should come next. You can say I was dreaming, but this was not deep REM sleep. I was peripherally aware of things like the furnace turning on, what position I should be sleeping in, and my breathing patterns. It was exhausting.

And I haven’t actually written anything on Stocks & Blondes, the next Deb Riley mystery, in a month. I was in the middle of a chapter when I could no longer maintain writing two stories at once. Only a week later, I couldn’t maintain writing one story and my daily productivity was represented by a series of 0s. The week ending August 31, I wrote less than 2,000 words. The week ending September 7, 4,800 words. This week, 6,700 words. Well, things are improving, right?

I guess the toughest thing is that somewhere along the line I began to equate my self-worth with my writing productivity. This year has been a record year for my books being read, for fans contacting me, for writing-related revenue, and for generally feeling good about myself as an author. And then suddenly that was kicked out from under me by a physical problem I had no business having. I’ve never had anything like this in my life and have very little family history of it. My drug costs have flown from $20 a month to over $700 a month, wiping out the gains I made this year from my writing. My long-anticipated trip around the world is indefinitely postponed. And my feeling of self-worth has plummeted.

I know that when I am productive (writing 40,000 words a week in April, May, and June) I let other things go. My house is crying to be cleaned—a task I will complete before my girlfriend visits later this week. Dishes pile up in the sink until I need to wash them or starve. Even the patio needs to be swept. I guess I wouldn’t feel so bad about my self-worth if having my productivity drop off meant I was getting these other tasks done. But I’m not.

I finally removed Solitaire from my computer this week when I realized I was spending hours mindlessly clicking on cards and then dreaming about the games at night. I’ve watched more Netflix in the past month than ever. And I have, I’m sure, set a new lifetime record for hours spent sitting in my chair. This is not the life I want.

Bitch and moan. Life ain’t fair.

Well, productivity is not the same as mindless rambling. I currently plan to head back to Seattle the 28th of September to be near doctors and family while I get this resolved. Please let there be a resolution!