I woke up at 3:30 am because that is what my life has become. Is it perimenopause? I don't know. But at least I know that the women of the Baroness von Sketch show feel my pain. I tried to link the "perimenopause" sketch, but the best I can do right now is the Ancestry DNA one. At this point, when I've been awake for six hours and it's only 9am, I'm gonna go with it.
One thing that I've decided is that being in my mid-40s sucks sometimes. Every once in a while i am shocked when I look in the mirror. In my brain, I look about the same as I did when I was in my twenties. Spoiler: I do not. Also, my confidence fluctuates from feeling great about myself and my abilities to (sometimes in the same day) wondering if anyone else notices that I'm a total fraud and that I really don't know what the f*ck I'm doing most of the time.
Case in point: About a year ago I decided that I would get off my ass and write. A month ago, I loved the novel that I've been working on. The past week, everytime I sit down to the computer to work on it, I hate it. HATE. Part of me feels like I'm wasting my time even trying to move it forward, then the other part of me (the more positive one) recognizes that the best way out of a bad story is to keep writing and find the good in it. It can't be all bad, can it? I'm not entirely sure that I want the answer to that question.
This is my current view: I'm sitting on my couch, laptop resting on my oustretched legs, wondering if it's too early in the morning to eat a candy cane. I mean, I did have a breakfast smoothie already. My gut is telling me it's a bad idea. Maybe I'll have a coffee first.