At least I'm not sick. I guess all of yesterday's sick talk was making me into a paranoid hypochondriac. After a good night's sleep I feel pretty good again.
I spent the morning having a stern talk with myself about my writing--about whether I really want to be a writer, and what I'm going to do about it. I've been such a slack-off lately. I have plenty of excuses, but the fact is that it just hasn't been a priority for me lately, and it's got me feeling like a phony and a failure. Fun, huh? This has prompted a deep soul-searching session that resulted in my first post for the essay blog. No, I haven't posted it yet. It still needs some fine-tuning, and anyway, I'm not sure I want it to go live before Monday.
Now, I'm eating tuna salad on Ritz. Soon, I'll go on a bank run for my husband. Later, there will be a knitting blog update and an eBay auction. Somewhere in all that, I've got to get some filing done.
Later, taters.
No comments:
Post a Comment