Day Eleven. The couch. Gilmore Girls, season five, episode four. Level of sadness on a scale from one to ten: eight.
Being home has been strange. After calling London home for three months, calling Burbank home still feels a bit weird on my tongue, but calling it anything else does not feel quite right either. Just wait until I am back SLOme.
I am more or less adjusted to the time change. For the first time in years I was able to pop out of bed at the early hour of eight o’clock on Christmas morning, per Haley’s request. Of course, waking up early means I am back to taking naps during the day. Does it waste precious daytime? Yes. Do I care? Not much.
I have read five books–and counting–since coming home and watched a serious lack of Netflix. I’ve made up for the latter in the last day or so, which means the sixth book has taken a bit of a backseat. Unless I am watching The Crown or Sherlock, I can’t sit idle while watch TV, which means I have been doing some work on Book 2. It’s always the middle where I second guess everything I have written and wonder why on Earth I decided to write this story. Things stop making sense, I get tired of the plot, and I consider giving up. I just want it to be over. Well, I have gotten over that slump, and I am falling in love again.
There was one scene I had been looking forward to write, one I had imagined since I came up with the plot. It all happened this one, specific way in my head, and I could not wait to write it. But after writing fifteen chapters, I started to second guess myself. And writing the scene itself changed everything–okay, not everything. It just played out in a different way than I had initially pictured, but it was better than what I planned. I am utterly inspired again, and that’s a wonderful feeling. It’s something I needed after all of this negativity on social media.
All I have been seeing on Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram are posts that talk about how God-awful 2016 has been. And I will tell you, this has not been a shining year: Brexit, the fiasco that was the US Presidential Election, bombings in Brussels, Bowie, Prince, Gene Wilder, and now George Michael, Carrie Fisher, and Debbie Reynolds (all three within a matter of days, no less). It has been a rough twelve months for a lot of people, and I have seen so much pessimism. Too much, maybe. Coming from someone who received an award in high school stating simply, “Hates Everyone,” I am kind of shocked at this kind of cynicism. Not to say it’s not warrented, but nobody can seem to find anything to be positive about.
I, for one, personally have had a great year. I went to Spring Training, I got a job with fun perks, I turned 21, and (as if you didn’t know) I spent the last quarter in London, England. I have come a very long way from the cynical teenager I was less than two years ago. It seems like so long ago that I was that girl, and I do not miss her one bit.
Now is the time that people are thinking about their New Year’s Resolutions, and I am no different. The last few years, I have been taking them more seriously and putting more thought into who I want to be in the new year. But for once, I really like myself. I am actually happy with the person I have grown into in the past year. That’s not to say there is no more room for growth, but I don’t feel like I need to “force” myself to improve. It seems to happen naturally.
Of course, I am still mourning the loss of so many icons–Carrie Fisher being one of my favorite humans, and all–but I can’t stop moving. I can’t let this negativity and tragedy get me down. That sounds dramatic, but that’s how I am feeling right about now: dramatic. Since I am in that mindset, time to get back to Book 2!