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My goal for the day: I will not be a gloomy bastard. I woke up in one of those grumpy moods. I immediately rolled over in bed and shared that mood with Jon. I didn’t realize that was what I was doing. I thought I was talking. I thought I was sharing how we need to get back into an exercise routine. Which we do need to do, but that wasn’t really what I was doing. I was simply finding a real issue to hang my bad mood on, then spread it around.
One of the plus sides to Jon and I doing good therapy speak is that before we got out of bed for the day I figured out I was in my gloomy bastard mode, and that I was actually looking for reasons for the mood. I don’t know about you, but just being in a bad mood for no reason bugs me, so I find reasons for it. There’s always something if you look hard enough, right? Right.
But, when I realized, and Jon realized, though he realized first, that it was a mood, I started to try and get a handle on it. A handle that did not include sharing the doom and gloom of it with others. I don’t know why every once in awhile I wake up in that dark mood. Not a happy dark mood, where you can enjoy the nightmarish thoughts, or use them in the next book, but just a mundane dark mood where you feel crappy that you’ve let your exercise routine slide. The kind of mood where you beat yourself up about not walking the dog as much as he needs. The sort of mood where the small failures of every day loom as big as giants, blocking out the sun, and darkening everything below them.
One of the good things about this kind of dark mood is that most of the things on the list can be fixed. I can go down and use the weights today. I can walk the dog. Part of the mood came from the fact that Jon and I have been taking turns being injured, or ill. Little illness, and lesser injuries, but they still are one more hurdle to cross in the continue saga of trying to get a routine in our exercise routine. Right now, Jon has a sprained ankle. Not a bad sprain, but bad enough. But it is getting better.
I am going to try to make a deal with myself. Between the injuries, illnesses, business, oh, and writing a book, and other things, I am going to try and cut myself some slack. I’m really not good at that, but here goes. It is unlikely that between now and early November when we have our last trip for A LICK OF FROST that we will be able to get into a exercise routine and stick to it. I do tend when I have something looming schedule wise that is going to throw everything helter-skelter to pick that moment to get back in a routine in the gym. Which means we exercise for a few weeks then the big disruption happens, and we get out of the habit. By the time we come off the big disruption, in this case tour, we’re wrecked and it takes a couple of weeks to recover. So there’s even less incentive to exercise. Other than that whole health benefit, and fitting comfortable into clothes, and being able to use your body without hurting yourself. Did I mention staving off early heart attacks? I mean there are incentives to exercise, but it is so hard to fit it into everyday life.
So here comes the slack. I will not fret about our exercise routine, or lack thereof, until early November when we have survived tour. I will not beat myself, or anyone else up because we are not doing it. I will let it go until early November. I think that only that will be sanity. Tour makes me nervous, it just does. So I have to put that nervous energy somewhere. So I want to exercise more. That only works if we’ve got a plan in place and we really have let it go again. But instead of feeling bad about that, I’m simply going to let it ride until we get past the disruption of tour, then we’ll figure out a routine, when there’s a routine to work with.
I am nervous about tour. I am trying to take it out on other things, but at the heart of it, that’s it. Damn. I keep thinking I’m better, then I realize that my nerves are looking for a mood to attach to, a reason that seems more reasonable than being nervous about tour. I’m better at flying, but I don’t’ like it. I’m better at a lot of things, but I still don’t like them. Sigh.
Now that I can’t pretend that the dark and gloomies is about not working out the way that I want us to be doing, I’m back to having to face why I’m really gloomy. Hmm. Well, at least knowing where the mood comes from will keep me from spreading it around and driving everyone else crazy with my scheme to get us all in shape. I’ll get us all in shape in November for real, and not just because I need something to obsess about to take my mind off my phobias that I will have to face all too soon.
BLOOD NOIR really is close to the end. I had to call the friendly police I know and ask questions yesterday. I called Charles, but got his machine, so called my friend Shawn. He was able to answer my questions. What questions? If I told you that it might give away the climatic part of the mystery. When Charles called back later in the day, he jokingly accused me of cheating with another cop. Charles said, “But you’ve known him longer, right?” “Seventeen years, or maybe eighteen.” “That would be longer.” Indeed. I knew Shawn years before he wore a uniform or carried a badge. So convenient when your friends get jobs that help with your research.
I guess I just need to obsess about the book. If I just throw all that anxiety into work, then the book will be done sooner and I won’t keep poking at everyone else with my mood. Now if I could just stop poking at me with the dark and gloomies, I’d have it made.