I’m tired today. Tired and frustrated.

I’m frustrated because I have reviews to finish and writing has hit the point where it’s ceased to be fun and begun to be torture. I wish that writing was easy, and then I think of Virginia Woolf and how hard it was for her to write, and then I think, so what, I’m not a genius.

I’m frustrated with myself for taking for granted the forum I have to talk about comics, for putting things off and not writing to my best ability.

I’m frustrated when I read the blogs of people vastly more talented and stylish than me; when I look at pictures of their awesomely decorated rooms. I look around at my dirty house and my decent crafts and my sloppy self and know that if I just put more time and effort into things, I could come closer to that look I want. But I don’t, and that frustrates me too.

I’m frustrated because I’m completely impatient with Zoe and her newly developed desire for me to hold her all the time, and I feel like I suck for not wanting to hold my kid all the time.

I’m frustrated because I have so many things to get done (the afore mentioned reviews, cleaning, and crafts, on top of getting ready for tonight when I have to try and convince 10 teenage girls to go against their instincts and actually speak kindly to each other) and really only the 2 hours while Zoe’s napping to do them in, and all I really want to do in those 2 hours (which are happening as I type) is lay down and sleep, or read the new book I got which will probably sit on my desk, unread, for ages.

I’m frustrated because despite going to bed at 9 last night and Zoe only waking up once, I still somehow only managed to get 8 hours of sleep, which you’d think would be plenty but I’m exhausted.

And I’m frustrated because I’m being a whiny baby and need to just shut up and be thankful for my life and my opportunities and do the stuff I need to do.