Whenever I try something big-for-me, there's always that spike of utter, abject terror that ends up with me hurting myself in strange and interesting ways.
For instance, yesterday I spilled hot soup on myself.
I wasn't hungry (warning sign) so I made myself a big ol' undertow mug of chicken stock broth. In the process of transferring the cup from the electric kettle stand to the bench where I planned to stir in the cream, I bumped the mug against the edge and sent boiling hot water over my hand and sock-covered foot.
Ow.
Quick treatment with cold water helped. There's not even a mark, today. Huzzah. But that was a direct result of sending off a pitch to not one, but two potential publishers simultaneously. Going against my own rules. Trying to get things over with. Ending up with a big heap of the old subconscious terrors as a result.
It's fucked with my sleep too. Woke up at 3-ish AM and couldn't settle, so I settled on writing. At least I got something done and I managed to bury the hatchet with the dude I mistook for a troll. Bygones. Moving on.
Today's plan involves doing fun fictions and probably working on Faxephoun when inspiration gets me. I'm getting closer to having time windows for my HAM plans. When I'm sure... that's when I'll devote some of my hours to making, learning to make, and other fiddly fart-arsing about.
I may take longer at it, but that's only because it's difficult to get anywhere when you're headed in several directions at once. Typical me. All over the place like a kids' lego collection.
Onwards, I do try to go.