Sing A Song of Sorrow

Sing a song of sorrow, sing a song of woe/My pie has no blackbirds, all I eat is crow/I'm always saying sorry, I'm always in the wrong/Apologise so often that I can't complete this song!

Well. Well. Well.

I don't know what it is about this time of year, but it always makes me want to extract, squeeze, wring, as much productivity from myself as possible. Adding blog entries, writing in my kids' journals, finishing short stories/poems, glancing at half-written manuscripts and tenatively fleshing them out a bit; and everyone's gonna get a mixed CD for Christmas, *IF* I can stop going overboard with the listening and critiquing of the music.

If. This is the problem, you see. IF can stop being obsessive, and spending all my time madly scrabbling to finish millions of projects. The 'if' is rather the point--I can't stop. I can't slow down.

And I want *everyone* to come along with me, on this mad ride of chaotic productivity and sleep-deprivation-based emotional highs and lows. I figure that if I can function on 30 hours of sleep a week, so can all my friends and family members, and I don't see why they won't just come out and play (at 4 in the morning, as often as not).

If I stop and think about it, I come to this unwelcome conclusion; although I am functioning on 30 hours of sleep per week, 'functioning' is not really enough. I'm certainly not firing on all thrusters, this week or last; I can't stay awake long enough to watch a movie (I love movies) my eyes are periodically unfocusing themselves without warning (the only time my slighty lazy eye is noticeable) and I have 3 unfinished blog entries on the go *right* *now*.

It's ridiculous. It's beyond ridiculous, it's ludicrous. It's beyond ludicrous, even; it's actually all gone a bit Marrakesh Bookcase.

I'm tying this up RIGHT NOW. I'm going to have a nap. I'll come back later, when coherence is a concept I can understand and apply to my writing/thinking.

Or maybe I'll just go sing some more groovy Christmas songs!!!