I can’t say no; that’s where the problems start.
It’s OK, I suppose. I’d rather be busy than bored, but by some recent tabulations, I’m averaging about 90 hrs. of work each week.
If something’s gotta give, then sleep is that something.
It’s O-K, but just barely.
Teaching four classes, working at the college’s writing center, training CPR & Nonviolent Crisis Intervention (NCI) classes, writing grants and proposals (plus freelance editing etc.) — it sort of takes a toll on one’s “free time.”
Free time. Now there’s a novel concept. . .
Speaking of novel, time spent actually writing novel(s) and stories has really suffered. I mean, I want to write. I can even [occasionally] magick some time out of thin air that I could use to write. However, by the time any of this happens, my brain feels like it’s been submerged in a jar of molasses. Or maybe sorghum. I dunno, something dark and viscous.
I was whinging (ask a Canadian) the other night on Twitter about this predicament, saying something to the effect of “Having trouble just thinking about writing
#LongDays…” and Justin Daugherty offered some simple advice but advice that was probably spot on nonetheless: “Do it. Writing is the most important thing.”
Fuck yeah it is!
I got a little bit scribbled into a notebook but it was better than nothing. It was better than putting it off until tomorrow and tomorrow became tomorrow became next week etc. &c.
Writing: Make like Nike and just do it!