At age 31 and three quarters, she began waking at 6:00 am. That month, Daisy became the super prolific artist we all know today, and simultaneously lost 50 pounds, published a novel, and remodeled her house- all whilst teaching her child American Sign Language and French and practicing Tai Chi with Bu.
This is the silly junk that runs through my mind, thinking of when my ceramics professor told me during critique that I’d be famous if I woke at 6:00. I think she’s actually right- not necessarily that I’ll catapult to fame, but that if I can get a little routine and time management going, many other things will fall into place.
I’m just sick to goddamn death of feeling like I have epiphanes on top of my epiphanes and I am Right On The Brink of becoming who I really, really am and it’s this Big, Big feeling. But then it’s gone and I’m in the same eternal rut.
(OK, Nell, maybe I am a little bit bipolar. You can’t really be that, right? Like being a little bit pregnant…)
So I’m trying to think small, because it’s do-able, small is. So, a six o’clock alarm. Waking early will hopefully get the Birdy to bed earlier too, which would be fantastic. I need small changes to actually happen, to make them happen. Because all the Real Big Shit not changing is depressing me. Another thing I keep replaying in my head is when Oprah has the Secret Cult guys on her show (and yeah we actually bought the DVD’s because however much cheesy cultishness there is, the Law of Attraction is a thing, and it works) and she said that when you tell yourself you will do something and then you don’t, you start to not believe your own inner dialogue and that sucks because it can be a serious source of power. I paraphrase. But it got lodged in my consciousness, because my inner voice
is has been a pathological liar. So I’ll keep trolling Zen Habits and try to make small, defined goals and then do them.
Because seriously, the thought of being 40, or even 33, and still making the same lame ass posts about why I suck but I rock on the inside and will someday rock totally, inside out, makes me queasy. I am so sick of dwelling on unfulfilled potential and revisiting the same insane artist psyche crap of self aggrandizement and self loathing at the same time. It’s psychotic. Add “I Must be the Best Mama in History or Molly will be in Therapy Forever!!!!” into the mix and good goddess it’s just a hellish thing.