writing rengeek magpie mind

October 2014

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rengeek will and tilda

these days it's all about the monkeys.

It's only 9:30, and I have taken  to my bed. Not because I'm tired--well, okay, I lie. I'm physically tired from exercise, but not sleepy--but because it's comfy in here and the cat has come to snuggle and I have nothing else to do.

The malady persists. When I am not working on a story, I have no idea how to fill up my days. So many of the things I like to do with my spare time involve thinky for fun, after all, and one of the reasons I need breaks between writing things is that telling stories is an exhaustive mental effort. They use up all my thinky, and then I am left without too much else to fill up my time. (There are physical limits on how much climbing and running I can do, after all.)

And it cracks me up, because when I am actually working on a story and it's ready to be written (as opposed to being hacked out of the living rock to beat a deadline), I am crabby and reclusive and very defensive of my precious time, and very very aware that there's not nearly enough of it. The winged chariot is right at my heels, and there is never enough time in the day and strength in my poor mortal frame to get as much done as I want to. So I tend to slough things off--things like grocery shopping, practicing guitar, and cleaning the house, and getting up to go for a run--because I get up and go to work instead.

And then in the times between stories, I cook and put things in the freezer, and wash the floor, and make sure the plants get watered. (The cat is better at complaining when her needs aren't met.

I determined something today, which is that I think I need to eat more carbs. I've been cutting back on calories in an attempt to drop some weight, because both the running and the climbing would be easier if I were not on the chubby side (If you want to climb better, lose five pounds) and of course the first thing to go is the fat and the more or less refined carbs--especially in the summer time when there is all this amazing produce around--because my body is very very adamant about its protein demands.

Except I had pizza and cookies and beer last night, along with more cheese and crackers than were strictly good for me (oh, god, I could live on cheese and crackers) and I woke up this morning full of energy and raring to go, after having been unable to drag myself outside for a run since Wednesday. So I went over to the gym and threw myself at bouldering problems for a couple of hours, and felt great.

Definitely time for me to step up the climbing to 3x/week regularly. If I can manage to get out for a three mile run on two or three days, that should keep me in some kind of cardio shape.... and then all I have to do is remember to stretch. And not kill my upper body on archery days.

Sigh.

Meatpuppet.

You are such a problem child.

Also, it's craving brownies, but since I'm giving it chocolate cake on Wednesday, it can just pull up a chair and wait.

It's not like I eat an excessive or un-nutritious diet, and I certainly give it enough exercise. And yet it refuses to do things that would make its life easier, like giving up forty or sixty pounds that aren't helping it at all (The government thinks I need to lose closer to 84 pounds. I think the government has not taken into account my skeletal structure, musculature, and the laws of physics.)

So anyway, more carbs, distributed throughout the day. Maybe with cheese on them. Because cheese is the one true food of which all others are merely shadows. I keep being so tempted to just go, fuckit, quit worrying about the strength/weight ratio and eat whatever your body tells you to eat (a strategy that generally works pretty well for me), except my time-honored tradition of eating less energy calories than I expend is just not working for me currently and I want to climb and run better.

SIGH. And right now, for comparison's sake, I am doing both in the equivalent of a thirty-kilo pack.

Well, the meat as to give up this battle eventually. I'm stubborner.

Anyway, work happened last week, and right now my thinky bit is resting, and so while I'm wishing I had the brain to finish Bone & Jewel Creatures or maybe get a draft of "Smoke & Mirrors" and also do some work on "Mongoose," well.

Despite the fact that I am bored and at lose ends and have no idea what to do with myself right now (A condition technically known as "post-novel ennui"), there just is no there there. And asking for it is as useless as asking a marathon runner for just one more sprint when he's just crossed the finish line.

Some days it's all about the recovery time.

Comments

Having skimmed recent science on the topic of tired brains with much personal interest, I think it is still easiest to compare it to the meaty bits. If you work out your legs, you can probably still work the shoulders in the same day, but if you've just run a marathon, don't go to the gym and lift weights. You're done in all over.

Let's say you've been doing calculus for the past two hours, and your brain says it's sick of the calc. You may still be able to get in another few hours of art history.

On the other hand, if it's been three days of straight of calc in an effort to pass the exam, the brain may say "Soddit, not doing a damn thing right now, too tired".
Pretty much that exactly. We're not talking about a few hours of light effort a day, leaving mental energy for other stuff.

We're talking about Mr Earbrass.
Yes, after Bear replied it occurred to me that I haven't done a deathmarch on a heavily mental activity like novel writing. If I do, it's self imposed and I can stop before I kill my brain.
(School essays weren't self-imposed, I grant you, but they also weren't as long or involving pulling out the heart.)

My comparable deathmarches have all been on activities of crafty kind, like ceramics. Which leave the mind more open to roam.