So I'm going on vacation in May. It's the kind of thing there's no way to talk about without sounding-- I mean, we're going to Paris, and then to a Greek island for a family friend's wedding, so. There you go. Now you know how it sounds, because you've heard it, and you're like, okay bitch, have fun! 

I'm telling you this because obviously I've twisted myself into a relatively unimportant knot about it: I'm trying to figure out whether or not I should bring my laptop with me when we go. The easy answer is no-- I am, as I have said a hundred thousand times in this newsletter and in person and anytime anyone asks me how I am, or sometimes even if they don't, pretty burned out right now! I've been working a lot and it's so fucking thrilling to feel like, I am doing this, I am really doing it, which is great, but also makes it easy to ignore how tired I am-- and then because of that how if I'm not super careful, something relatively small can just knock me right off my balance. A couple of weeks ago I had the closest thing to a panic attack I've experienced since starting Lexapro, which sent me down a very scary rabbit hole of the Lexapro's not working and it's going to get bad again and there's nothing I can do about it and I was lucky for a while but that's over and now I'm going to be sick again forever. (In fact, what I needed was to stop doing things for a few days, and also to sit on T's couch and sob for fifteen or twenty minutes. Her literal presence is healing and you should be seeing her for acupuncture. This is not an ad; it's what I know to be true.) Anyway. I shouldn't be doing anything approaching work for those ten days, right? What kind of psycho would I have to be, to not just take them off?

BUT, here's the thing: I have this like, sketch of an idea for a novel that I can in no way justify working on or really even thinking too much about right now-- not in my real life, anyway. And I can imagine nothing more delicious than waking up on the beach in Greece and writing a couple thousand words and then dunking my head in the ocean all afternoon. (I worry that I'm implying that writing is like, an easy and romantic act, and it's not, it's physically draining some days, but also, I love physically draining things, see: boxing, so this is indeed my idea of a good time.) I want to do that so badly. I want to write just to write, and I want to pretend that writing just to write isn't work, not really, even though I know I'm wrong to do it. 

Writing for a living makes it easy to find time to write in theory, but functionally, I still feel like I have a bills-paying day job that's first priority until I have an urgent book deadline. The problem is that you only get to an urgent book deadline by selling something you've already written, so you have to make time to write it-- even though it's unpaid and foolish, even still, four books in.

I just don't know yet how to balance all of this: what I love and what I want, and the work I want to do and the work I have to do, and my mental health, which is so much more robust than it was a few years ago, and still more delicate than I'd like it to be. So that's where I'm at right now, honestly: I'm tired, and I'm excited, and I'm trying to figure out how to push myself and still stay as healthy as I need to be do this work, this work that I am so stupid lucky to have, the way it deserves to be done.

-

I also have a piece up today, on Kris Jenner and the cultural history of momaging for Buzzfeed!

And I'm moderating a panel at the LA Times Festival of Books this Saturday at 1:30 pm, featuring Aminah Mae Safi, Julie Buxbaum and Cecil Castellucci. I'm also presenting at the Book Awards on Friday night if you're planning on being there!

I'm not teaching a Writing Workshops LA class in the spring because, European vacation, but you should check out their schedule and sign up for something anyway, because they rule.