Strung Along

I might be starting to tire of the state that I once sought after, long ago in the spring of this strange experiment. From the inside, I can feel when my face has frozen up into what Ian Daly in Details called "the look":

"America, the land of excess, fads and optimism about finding the right fixes for everything and anything, will probably continue to use and abuse Adderall. There will be the "Adderall Look" -- too focused, emaciated, tired -- that will dominate professional circles. Not having it will be a signal not to take us seriously (we're probably only working 60 hours a week). Well-intentioned muckrakers will push for a ban on Adderall and a rethinking of our notion of success."

While it felt good to be centered in that space of productivity and ideas and enthusiasm--I came up with a book idea, have applied to several jobs, am working to finish a third young adult book on deadline--it has not felt great to remain stuck there all the time.

There are the times when I just want to sit on the couch. I mean, there hasn't been much of that time to speak of, but it's an aspiration.

There are the times I should be talking to a friend about what's happening in my heart, instead of an article I read and why it's sociologically significant.

I am starting to feel that hole. Although I'd like one life exclusively to write, and many other lives for the rest of it, I can't live an authentic life from behind a screen. No freelance project in the world will give it to me.

I'm not sure if I'll continue, or save them. The problem with Adderall is that the early writing days on it were so revelatory that I did not want it to end. Of course, it's different now. I can stay up nearly all night to make some progress on my writing, yet at that level of fatigue my distractedness breaks through, anyhow. Or I'll find myself crafting long, exacting essays/posts that are OTHER than what I need to be doing. Not necessarily helpful, either.