Any time I say something dumb like, "I'm almost caught up," it seems crap happens to knock me back in place. Doesn't matter what it is -- writing, finances, work stuff, taxes, you name it, the second I start feeling relieved or easy about it, the fates decide to show me who's really boss in the great void of life. Like feeling I was on top of the job, for once. Today wound up being an eleven hour day just getting everything done that needed doing, and tomorrow promises to be just as rough, thanks to the weather blowing in and making a mess of our scheduling.
So I have a choice...I can stop whining about this crap and get back to my real life, or I can keep letting it get me down. Today...I flipped it the finger. No writing done but rather than mope, I made a meatloaf with carrots and potatoes and tomato soup (and red peppers and onion), and rather than extend my time away from home to eat a very late dinner, I made a cheese sandwich and feasted on chips (meatloaf takes at least an hour to cook right and I was too damn hungry to wait...but I have snacked on it). It was faster, just as tasty as anything I'd eat in a fast-food joint, and I saved myself $7.
Tomorrow I'm leaving at 5, no matter what. I want to be done with FCB and being a slave to a job I don't really understand is foolish. Of course, I shouldn't say much. A lot of writers had piddly jobs to pay for food and rent -- was it Edgar Allen Poe who worked in a post office or customs office or something? For a modern equivalent, J K Rowling wrote the first Harry Potter in a tea shop in Edinburgh, her only time of peace and quiet. I bought the first book in the series; guess I'll start reading it on the john.
Hmph -- reading Harry Potter on the pot...too appropriate.
So I have a choice...I can stop whining about this crap and get back to my real life, or I can keep letting it get me down. Today...I flipped it the finger. No writing done but rather than mope, I made a meatloaf with carrots and potatoes and tomato soup (and red peppers and onion), and rather than extend my time away from home to eat a very late dinner, I made a cheese sandwich and feasted on chips (meatloaf takes at least an hour to cook right and I was too damn hungry to wait...but I have snacked on it). It was faster, just as tasty as anything I'd eat in a fast-food joint, and I saved myself $7.
Tomorrow I'm leaving at 5, no matter what. I want to be done with FCB and being a slave to a job I don't really understand is foolish. Of course, I shouldn't say much. A lot of writers had piddly jobs to pay for food and rent -- was it Edgar Allen Poe who worked in a post office or customs office or something? For a modern equivalent, J K Rowling wrote the first Harry Potter in a tea shop in Edinburgh, her only time of peace and quiet. I bought the first book in the series; guess I'll start reading it on the john.
Hmph -- reading Harry Potter on the pot...too appropriate.
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