Even if I wanted to, I can’t even begin to describe this week. I was talking to my grandmother last night, telling her about last week’s migraine, and the week before’s fighting of the cold, and combining that with THIS week, I feel like I should put on some umpire gear and yell, “Strike three! You’re out!” at whatever gnome or goblin that has jinxed me this week, last week, the week before, and this year over all.
I’m not the only one who feels this way: 2014 has been full of suck.
It’s an interesting thing though: I know I haven’t talked specifics about my personal life, and there’s some things that, no matter how open I may get on this blog, that I’m just not going to air to the public. But those things that happened earlier have prepared me, I feel, for the here and now. I’m a different person now that I was back in February, when I felt my life was draining through my fingers. I’m a stronger person now, which is good, because the events of this week have required it, and it’s still not over.
I know, I know: don’t you hate it when someone writes something, asking for prayers or clearly bemoaning their life, clearly indicating something is wrong but not telling you what it is? It feels like a cry for help. It feels like begging for attention. I’m doing neither of these things, and I’m not keeping secrets either: the people in my life who need to know absolutely know.
But I’m writing this in vague terms to say I’ve officially thrown in the towel for NaNoWriMo. I’d contemplated it over the weekend, after the week-long migraine subsided and I could legitimately focus on writing again. Yet, I couldn’t focus. And then something completely different started brewing on Monday, not related to my health at all, but my family. Monday was the warning, Tuesday was the tornado, Wednesday was the calm before the storm, and then Thursday dropped a bomb so big I’m still reeling from it, and since then, while telling myself and others, “Take one day at a time,” I’ve been dreading what that next day would bring.
This year, more than anything, has been a year of transition. And not just that, it’s a year that’s defining me. It’s a year that’s forcing me to focus on my fears, face them, and accept the fallout, whatever that may be. It’s forcing me to step up and that’s a scary thing.
And to put things in more specific terms, what’s happened this week has absolutely killed the writing brain. Not for good, just for NaNoWriMo. I have some thoughts about the few days I actually participated, how I felt about having to write nearly 1,700 words per day versus the way I normally write, but that’s a post for another day.
So for now, I’m gracefully bowing out. The migraine was one thing. This week has been an entirely different beast, one that colors the rest of the month, let alone the rest of the year. Trying to write to a deadline is just not going to happen right now.
And I’m okay with that.