I’m not having a great time at the moment. It’s three quarters of the way through the year and I still don’t have a literary agent, so I’m starting to feel like I’m going to fail in my New Year’s Resolution. I’m really not enjoying my job (as readers of last week’s blog entries may just about have worked out!). My stammer is seriously bugging me to the point where I wish voice box transplants existed – I had one phone call today where midway through I just wanted to burst into tears and run out of the office as it was so bad. Oh, and my Grandpa is still in hospital. Overall, life feels like it’s in one big holding pattern where I’m totally reliant on other people to “let” me make steps forward, and even though I’m far from being a control freak I don’t like feeling this powerless. If it wasn’t for my lovely wife and very cute cats I think I’d be pretty depressed.
I don’t actually know what being depressed is like, though. I don’t wake up wanting to kill myself, or feel like crying and going back to sleep, but I do know that I’m not particularly happy in anything apart from my personal life. All this could be changed in an instant if I get positive feedback about my manuscript sometime in the next few days, but the way my luck’s going at the moment I’ve reverted to being rather underconfident about the whole endeavour.
Hopefully a couple of good nights’ sleep will sort me out, as I’m rather run down, too, and that certainly doesn’t help my stammer, mood or stress level. My holiday in November can’t come soon enough as far as I’m concerned. Indeed, I reckon I should think about taking a couple of days off in the meantime.
Right. Depressing blog entry over. Tomorrow I’ll try my best to be more enthusiastic about things. It could be worse. I could be David Miliband.