I have to make an embarrassing confession today.
I had my first day of holiday, with the thought clattering in my mind that I should have posted something. Well….
I had no idea what to type. Go figure. Anyway…
Today I read To Kill a Mockingbird for the first time (yes… I know.) and moved on to a Jeffrey Deaver. I’m nothing if not a varied reader. I’m contemplating setting myself a huge daily writing goal a la NaNoWriMo, but with more words. If I’m going to have a snowball’s hope to finish Doorways by 31 December, I estimate that I’ll need to write about 3000 words per day. Factoring in my mom’s birthday, family visits, my birthday, socializing and Christmas, I’m going to have to aim for 4000+ words just to average it out…
But hell, that sounds steep. But the satisfaction beckoning me should I succeed is really tempting. But the disappointment should I fail… Sigh…
You know, in September, I thought I’m the kind of person that saw scary situations, took a deep breath and walked straight into the thick of them. Well… I did. I was warned about Economics, wasn’t I? And I saw all my options, feared boredom and picked the worst possible option for a person seeking a sure degree.
See… My mom and I actually talked about these things. She also tackles the most impossible projects ever. Sometimes she wins, sometimes she doesn’t. Either way, she did something that no-one else dared. I tend to do that too. Me? I either win huge or get spanked to within an inch of my life. So badly that I suspend making choices as to my next project until the sting goes away. Then, I guess because no one remembers the feeling of pain, I put myself through it again.
What wire is loose in my head that I would actually put myself through all this nonsense? Adrenaline addiction? Masochism? Too much optimism?
In fact, my Gran often comments that she’s glad she doesn’t have to move through life with my bleak world view. Actually, I’m not bleak, but that’s another story.
No. Rather, the common trait shared between my mother and me would be the Jack Russel syndrome.
Ever noticed that Jack Russels will fight dogs twenty times their size for dominance? Sometimes they beat Rottweilers and Great Danes to become top dogs. Sometimes they get eaten, give the big dogs indigestion and get spat out again.
That’s us all over. We have NO sense of size. There’s something wrong with the part of the brain that says: “Girl, you’re picking the wrong fight. Tuck tail, turn around. Run.” Nope.
I used to think that studying Actuarial Science would be a technicality before I got to earn my way to retirement.
I believed right up to four hours before my economics exam that I had my studies under control.
The former very nearly destroyed me. (A tip for parents: Unless your child likes being punished, loves not having contact with humans and has a sense of self preservation, DO NOT let them consider that career. EVER.)
I refuse to let the latter hurt me as much. But I’m licking my wounds before taking on the next big dog in my way.
Which is why I’m waiting until Monday to decide. I really don’t want to set myself up so soon. The scrapes I got still burn and itch.
Any advice for me? How are you doing? Anyone else with scope issues? How do you deal with it?