It's a marathon, not a sprint

I've had time to calm down after my little panic attack the other day. It seems that I briefly lost sight of the fact that selling a self-published book without any sort of marketing strategy (money) was like a marathon, not a sprint. I had a lot of issues going on that day too, none of which you want to hear about. It's just so hard to be patient some days, especially when my emotions are running hot and cold. Most days I feel like a little kid in December waiting for jolly ol' Saint Nick to bring gifts. The other days I feel like Debbie Downer from an old Saturday Night Live skit. I don't think medication is the answer. The only reasonable answer I can come up with is to keep writing. So that I shall do.