(no subject)

Over the course of 2018, I wrote 318507 words. That number's a bit squishy because Gdocs counts html code for bold/italics as words and also counts a triple asterisk as a word, but I don't think it's that squishy. Some things ended up in my deleted snippets documents and will never see the light of day again, but I'm counting them because they were still words that I worked to produce.

My monthly word count for December 2018 was the lowest all year at 11265 words. August had 12247 words. My highest word count month was March at 50538 words. I have no clue why March was so productive.

I posted 275177 words across 41 stories in 2018. A chunk of what I posted had been written in previous years, so this word count shouldn't be taken as my having posted any particular percentage of what I worked on. (I could actually figure that out because I've kept records, but good lord, do I not want to do that much work.) I've still got a lot of partially written stories.

( Stories I posted this year )

Current WIP with words actually written:

( A not even vaguely detailed list )

(no subject)

I'm feeling kind of weirdly avoidant. It's been happening a lot the last year or two and comes and goes. I have things I know I need to do and just feel like it's all too anxiety inducing. Part of it seems to be family obligation occasions; part of it seems to be times when I look at DW or Discord or whatever and feel like everyone's talking at once. I just get overwhelmed.

I don't want to disengage because doing that upsets me, too, because I get lonely and really do want something that simulates human interaction. It's kind of like feeling desperately hungry while knowing that food will make me very, very sick.

When I'm in this mode, it's very easy to let writing or reading something long just fill all available space in my brain. Story is protective, and I can let my anxiety leach into the narrative enough not to increase beyond what I can bear. Unfortunately, that leaves me damn all for picking up my to-do list and crossing anything off of it or for figuring out priorities beyond ordinary life-maintenance things.

I think that I'm not helped by having Scott and Cordelia home because my mind simply ignores my body's signals that yes, now would be a good time to sit down or to eat or stop doing that thing we're working on together. It's like my ability to self-manage vanishes when one or both of them are here because something in my head says that these things will only get done with help and can't be done right unless I'm helping.

I just have to manage one more thing. Always one more thing. Until suddenly I can't manage anything further. Hitting the physical wall of what my body can handle reverberates for days and tends to make my mind hit an equally immovable wall. I just never know quite where either wall is until I suddenly smack into it.

I'm trying to rebuild myself from us having sorted the stuff from Cordelia's bedroom on Sunday and packed up an entire carload of stuff for Scott to donate on New Year's Eve. I have so many small things that need doing, the sort of thing that can be put off until 'later' again and again.

At any rate, I'm in overload. I'm not sure when I'll be back in terms of reading, let alone commenting. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe next week. I don't know.