I love buffets. It doesn’t matter what’s on the menu, sea food, Chinese, Mexican, you name it. As long as I can keep filling a new plate to my stomach’s content, I’m good.
When I was much younger, I was a buffet’s worst nightmare. Tall and reedy, no one could guess at the amount of food I could pack away. I’ve had waitresses sit at my table, staring at me in amazement. I knew the look well. It said, “How the hell can this scrawny, size twenty-eight waist kid keep feeding his face like that?”
The metabolism is a funny thing. For years it built me up as Super Metabo-man, able to level a small buffets in a single sitting.
Then, somewhere around age twenty-five it started to slow down. As my pant size was no longer immune to the kryptonite the buffet offered, I had to curb my eating habits. It took a while for what my eyes thought was enough food to actually balance with what body needed. I continued to pile my plate high, but was only able to get half of it down before throwing in the towel because as much as I disliked being hungry, I disliked being wasteful more.
I feel my writing life has become the same way. Piled high with classes, blogs and commitments, I’m over-filled. My younger self might have had all the time he needed, but the now me has less to spare. Taking on all these things at once is hindering my own writing immensely.
Last month I made no noticeable progress. In fact I feel like I took two steps back. That’s not good.
This next month I’m making some hard choices. I need to edit out certain elements so I can get back into a groove I can be proud of. With the life I’ve chosen, I might not be able to do the all-you-can-eat writing. Not at the moment, anyway.
I can however find a happy balance.
