Vanity or Therapy?

Like good weather, my optimism rarely lasts as long as I'd like. The see-saw has swung downwards again, and my previous sunny disposition has been replaced by the familiar gloom of self doubt and pessimism. Have I bitten off more than I can chew? What makes me think that I have the skills or drive to achieve anything at all? Where did I get the idea that everything won't turn to shit? Bugger. Only thing for it, keep on keeping on. Head down. Make the calls. Do the research. Button it down, bottle it up. Get the smiley mask out of the cupboard. It's one of the problems of working alone - in company you can put on the sociable mask, play the role, be the character you've invented - but on your own the audience doesn't fall for any of that crap. The audience knows that you're a fake, a loser, and they aren't afraid of letting you know it. A couple of months ago in real time I was put on a waiting list for counselling, and the first appointment is looming later in the week - I had thought that I'd pass, that I was infinately more chipper, that events had shooed off the black dogs, but evidently not. Roll on Thursday, and what I suspect to be a session of agressive listening. But I'll probably be alright by then. Probably.

As my moods change, so do my priorities. Bollocks to biting off more than I can chew - I'm going to stuff my face - another hat is beckoning. The screen play that I started is calling me again - writing it was something that I enjoyed so much, I cant think of the reasons that I gave myself to stop. Maybe it isn't ever going to pay for my retirement, but if I treat it like a hobby maybe I can get something out of the process. Vanity or therapy? Who cares - I need both.