Barely breathing, but dizzily happy

I’m up at 2.10 am after drafting three script proposals for a writing project, a collaborative effort. Seems I’m learning more about managing in teams, and trying to tone down my default authoritarian mode.

The ex complained that I’d gotten to the point where I would just make demands/orders instead of requests. Perhaps he was right. I hope to soften my stance more and yield a little, instead of being too resistive.

The Agency’s workload is starting to ramp up and I’m having to plan my time a bit more carefully now. But at the same time, I have two other projects on my plate – an adaptation of a local myth into a child-friendly stage romp and a collaborative creative endeavour…which I cannot say no more on pain of squishing.

But I’m happy, really. I’m busy doing things I want to do, and am excited doing. The Agency has quite a workload but the personal payoffs make up for the brain squeezing. And I’m finally nestling in the welcoming bosom of theatre – not on stage, but making things happen.

Not that I didn’t get an adrenalin rush at the last job on occasion. But most times, it was nerves, pain, being stretched to the limits and being asked to deliver far past what was reasonable. No one can be an editor/sub-editor/writer all at the same time and something had to give, eventually. In PR, I can call in favours, negotiate and find creative solutions. Since I work from home anyway, if I get bone weary I can crawl to my bed and steal a cat nap. But my last job required forcing out inspiration from a weary body and a taxed mind. And sometimes, there’s just nothing left to squeeze. I had a few months where I thought I’d never write again, I was that drained.

So I wonder why I’m up at 2.30 and just feeling so…alive.

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