Yet again, I can’t seem to write this dang blog on a consistent basis. There’s a blog that I read called The Daily Love, and the writer, Mastin, basically bitch slapped me this morning. I realize he doesn’t know me, but there’s a part of me that loves and hates it when his message hits home. Basically, today he wrote about how he writes every day whether he’s in the mood or not. After all, he did name the blog The DAILY Love. Thankfully, I didn’t name my blog with time constrictions or else I’d really be screwed, but I do realize that in order to really challenge myself and do what I set out to do, I should probably write on a more consistent basis.
So most of my excuses for not writing enough is because I’ve been so busy with work. I love my job and am very passionate about what I do, but it sure does keep my brain busy. Even last night I had a dream that I was selling a fragrance called Cancer. I was in the aisle of a department store saying, “Have you tried Cancer?” Even in my head I realized it was stupid and ridiculous, and yet I still kept doing it.
Now my job isn’t really to sell fragrance, but it is to educate people that work in the stores and to keep them inspired so they want to sell our products. It’s my dream job in so many ways. I love helping people learn how to be successful. I constantly get to be around different people and personalities, which I totally adore. I also get to travel almost every week, and I couldn’t feel more blessed.
And even though I’m the luckiest person I know, I have a confession to make. I’m a worry wart. I struggle with saying this out loud mostly because it’s freaking hard to say. It reminds me of my Puerto Rican mom trying to say Albuquerque. She just can’t do it. Anyways, it’s annoying as hell to dream about work. I come across so many people that think I have it all together, but they have no idea how crazy my brain really is. All day long and on a daily basis, I’m worrying about something. Don’t tell me it’s unhealthy, because I already know.
When I was in seventh grade, my computer teacher pulled me out into the hall one day to show me his teeth. I seriously had no idea what was going on except that I knew I wasn’t doing well in his class. He explained to me that I was a worry wart and that I needed to change so that I didn’t end up grinding my teeth like he does.
My dad always said I was as sharp as a marble, which would cause me to sincerely say, “Daddy, marbles aren’t sharp.” So needless to say, I was a bit dumbfounded when my computer teacher laid his wisdom on me so poignantly. Me? A worrier? Didn’t everyone worry?
So now, at the ripe age of 34, I am here to proclaim that my mind is draining and I’m tired of worrying. Life is going to happen how it’s supposed to, and the only thing I can control is myself. So I’m going to work on the things I can actually control, like trying to write more and even when I don’t feel like it.