Before leaving on Thursday, I made certain to pack my laptop and extra books, since I figured I'd be alone in the hotel room most of the time. I'd be able to catch up on my writing and finish one book so I could get started on another that I've had my eye on for weeks now. So, how did I do? Let's put it this way: I'm about 5,000 words behind and didn't finish one book.
But I didn't care.
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| Perris Auto Speedway during a quiet moment |
Sprint cars are amazing. I knew this before, but this weekend only reinforced and strengthened my love for this sport. Watching the boy work alongside people I've been cheering for was surreal. I met drivers and others involved in this sport that I've treated like celebrities for the last few years. The best part of it all was seeing him so happy. He was having the time of his life (even though his team didn't do so hot).
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| The boy (in the blue hat) checking out Hubcap Mike's car |
Watching what goes into making these cars run is terrifying. I felt like they should fall apart in a matter of seconds (side note: the smell of Methanol and cigarettes is an intoxicating perfume). Everyone involved is absolutely insane, I swear. The mechanics, the drivers, the photographers. One photographer I met takes amazing shots, but it's horrifying to watch him perch precariously on the wall and lean out toward the track while the cars whiz by, all to get the perfect picture. The mechanics work faster and harder than anyone I've ever seen, and they have the harrowing task of making sure this car doesn't self-destruct on the track and the driver doesn't die. There are no words for the drivers themselves: their huge balls speak for them.
Now I'm back home (for awhile...) and trying to catch up on everything I missed while being so wrapped up in sprint cars.
I'm plunking away at NaNo. I think this one might come down to the wire. I'm into the story and finding inspiration everywhere I turn, but something is stopping me. It's not writer's block or even that cat (surprise!), but, as weird as this sounds, I think the feeling are getting to me. Some of the scenes are terribly sad and it gets me really down for awhile, so much so that I don't want to do anything more than stare at the cat and contemplate my own life. I'm going to try my best, and I'm keeping my fingers crossed for a quiet Thanksgiving break, although I was just told that I would be working that Wednesday, so siiiiigh.
Now, for a Mr. Roger's moment. Now that things are looking to slow down, I notice an aspect of my personality that I thought had gone forever: obsession.
This sounds like the prelude to a Saturday Morning Special.
We have a lot of stuff to do around the house, and I tend to zone in on one thing and obsess over it until it's perfect. Seriously. It's scary. I used to (sadly) do this with boys in high school: I'd get a crush and then have to refrain from driving by his house every two seconds (I lived in a small enough town where this sort of behavior would have been noticed pretty quickly). Luckily, I'm not insane anymore. But that same level of obsession seems to be creeping over me. It's come for little things, but they've all consumed my every waking moment. It stresses me out to no end. I want things to get going and to be done, and sometimes I can't see over the rainbow to the next project. It takes a lot of deep breaths to keep me going through the day and lovely bedtime stories to keep my dreams obsession free.It feels dangerous and heady, but I enjoy it.
What I'm getting at here is that obsession is okay. Obviously, there are different levels to this, but I think constantly looking up pictures for your office (me right now) or writing a boy's name a thousand times in your notebook (me at 15) is okay. Just, you know, don't get all Single White Female on whatever you're obsessing over.
I just dated myself. Whatever, I'm old.
Now, back to writing. Hopefully my next post will be full of happiness and self-praise for almost being done.
As always, fingers crossed.
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