I just turned in an application today for a grant I’ve been piecing together for six weeks. In the grand scheme of things, six weeks isn’t a long time. But with a full-time job, working some overnights, trying to wrap up my first play in I-hesitate-to-say-how-long required a lot of emotional energy.

I had no idea how much I had given to this particular project until I discovered I could barely sit up straight once I got back from the post office. Even after basically passing out from exhaustion for several hours (I still call that a nap if it’s less than 8 hours) I couldn’t think straight. I was completely grumpy, irrational, and dulled down. Nouns left me. Everything “sucked.” Especially the play I’d just written. It’s a strange sort of post-partum that hits me everytime I complete a new full-length work. I disparage everything I’ve ever done and then cry for awhile and get on the pity pot and whine some more.

The man definitely wanted to run away. He didn’t.

Hours later, I still can barely function. I know that I just need to give myself a few days to relax…but I’m not used to downtime. It feels strange to take time to heal, to get my nouns back. I have half of the next play roughed out, and I think I should just jump right into it. Maybe I’ll scribble some adjectives and verbs. Hopefully, though, I’ll piddle around, send e-mails, read for fun, watch some Netflix.

Ha.

I feel unsettled without a project to work on. Untethered. Adrift.

Give me 24 hours and I’ll be back in my studio, chasing the dream again.