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Princess Patrizia
Nov. 10th, 2025 07:45 amAll weekend long, I was a complete sloth—for no reason except that I wanted to be.
I mean, I did do some Remuneration (because I only get paid when I hand the work in) and I also scribbled another 1,000 words on the Work in Progress—extremely uninspired words that felt like Legos as I moved them around on the page. I hated them the moment I typed them, but I'm not going to delete them: At a certain point, I have to trust that I'm good enough at my craft so that readers can't really see the difference between inspiration & treading water, plus this is a fuckin' first draft, it doesn't have to be perfect.
But I didn't do any kind of exercise.
And maybe that's just what I needed. 'Cause the injured left leg feels almost normal this morning, and in a couple of hours, I'm gonna toddle off to the gym for the first time in two and a half weeks.
###
My mood?
Meh, bordering on despondent.
That's the Seasonal Affective Disorder. Combined with a kind of anxiety over how little I've prepared for the coming winter. Temperatures are supposed to plummet 25 degrees tomorrow as some kind of Greenland air mass squats over the Hudson Valley (& the entire eastern United States as a matter of fact, but who gives a shit about those people in Florida & the Carolinas.) It's already midnight at 6 o'clock, and I am not ready for it to be cold, cold, cold.
All day long yesterday, people kept texting: I want to talk to you on the phone! I wish I could see you!
But I felt isolated and alone. Mulling over all the bad choices that brought me... here...
Intellectually, of course, I know that given the bad hand I was dealt—borderline mother; father so evil, abandonment was a blessing; the whole House of Usher thing—the choices I've made have been good ultimately. But I had to teach myself to make good choices, so I made bad ones until I learned to make good ones, and that learning curve took time.
So, it goes.
I do not live in Gaza. I do not live in Sudan. I do not live in Yemen.
Compared to 90% of the people who live or who've ever lived on this planet, I am a princess.
I mean, I did do some Remuneration (because I only get paid when I hand the work in) and I also scribbled another 1,000 words on the Work in Progress—extremely uninspired words that felt like Legos as I moved them around on the page. I hated them the moment I typed them, but I'm not going to delete them: At a certain point, I have to trust that I'm good enough at my craft so that readers can't really see the difference between inspiration & treading water, plus this is a fuckin' first draft, it doesn't have to be perfect.
But I didn't do any kind of exercise.
And maybe that's just what I needed. 'Cause the injured left leg feels almost normal this morning, and in a couple of hours, I'm gonna toddle off to the gym for the first time in two and a half weeks.
###
My mood?
Meh, bordering on despondent.
That's the Seasonal Affective Disorder. Combined with a kind of anxiety over how little I've prepared for the coming winter. Temperatures are supposed to plummet 25 degrees tomorrow as some kind of Greenland air mass squats over the Hudson Valley (& the entire eastern United States as a matter of fact, but who gives a shit about those people in Florida & the Carolinas.) It's already midnight at 6 o'clock, and I am not ready for it to be cold, cold, cold.
All day long yesterday, people kept texting: I want to talk to you on the phone! I wish I could see you!
But I felt isolated and alone. Mulling over all the bad choices that brought me... here...
Intellectually, of course, I know that given the bad hand I was dealt—borderline mother; father so evil, abandonment was a blessing; the whole House of Usher thing—the choices I've made have been good ultimately. But I had to teach myself to make good choices, so I made bad ones until I learned to make good ones, and that learning curve took time.
So, it goes.
I do not live in Gaza. I do not live in Sudan. I do not live in Yemen.
Compared to 90% of the people who live or who've ever lived on this planet, I am a princess.
