Each week day, I have the house to myself. (Don’t hate me, I work from home). And each morning after I drop my kiddos off at school, I say, this will be the day when I can devote all six of those hours to writing. This, of course, never actually happens, and all writers can probably relate. Here is just an example of how my 6 blissful writing hours today will shrink itself down to one hurried hour.
Hour 6: Spent doing the laundry and fixing the damn ‘IE’ code. Internal Error be gone!!!! Grrrr. Who needs underwear, really?
Hour 5: Spent picking up the disaster area that is my house. At least now I can see my floor. This is a good thing, right?
Hour 4: Spent on the phone with people concerned about me and how I’m handling my separation. I can feel the love. Thanks all!
Hour 3: Spent blogging/facebooking and Tweeting. WHAT? It’s marketing…sort of, kind of, sometimes. Oh, quiet, you all do it too. (Please tell me you do it too!)
Hour 2: Spent working for the part time job I actually get paid for. (And no, I don’t feel bad about only working an hour today at this job since I spent 8-8 yesterday working at said part time job.) Oy.
Hour 1: Holy CRAP! I only have an hour left? Quick, be brilliant tiny fingers, be clever, but not cliched. Ack! Why won’t my fingers type faster? Where the heck did my day go????
Author of Pulled, and EVENTUALLY, Pulled Back. Honest. Once can afford a maid. Sigh.