Frustrated Funk: Part 2

I know there are many reasons to feel elated today. Obama won by a landslide. I’m not in a gang. “Arrested Development,” the movie, is currently in production. I will see The Killers in concert in 33 days. All reasons to be completely at ease with life.

Instead, I’m in another frustrated funk. And I point my finger at one reason: Time. If Time were a person, he would dress all in black. He would smoke a pipe, and have thick glasses and a pointy chin. He would be a terrible visitor—either always overstaying his welcome or leaving in the middle of dinner without even saying thank you. He’s an incredibly unpredictable, controlling and selfish man. But, the more I let him get to me, the more he plants himself under my skin and eats away at me. Time. We have a very bittersweet friendship, he and I.

Whoever wrote the words, “Time can ease all pain,” is a stupid, low-life writer who will never make it further than a Hallmark card career, because their words are ridiculous bullshit. Sorry to be so cynical, but I really see it as the other way around. Time can be the cause of pain, itself. Time is not tangible, but it carries a weight. It presses down. It makes the air feel heavier, the sky darker, my steps slower. Time is the reason for my frustrated funk.

In case it isn’t obvious, I haven’t gotten an offer yet. There is interest, there have been rejections too. But time is really getting to me…

Every book on publishing I’ve read, every article, every piece of advice says the following: “If you aren’t a patient person—become one.” That is by far my greatest challenge in this process.