|My hand to god, until yesterday when I looked at a calendar,|
I thought it was like maybe the 12th.
Image description: Writer looking like he just found out
it's December 21st when he thought it was the 12th.
On the one hand my wallet is not as terrified of the coming holiday season, and I might not have to gift my loved ones packs of Top Raman. (I'm even planning a Christmas bonus for the staff here at W.A.W. that isn't "Free Hash Browns with a Breakfast Sandwich" coupons.) On the other hand, given that I'm back here tomorrow bright and early, the time situation has gone from "What is this; I don't..." to "I literally can't even" in just a couple of days.
It's not that I like playing hare lure with my Star Wars post. ("Did I say Wednesday? I meant Friday." "Did I say Friday? I meant next week.") It's just that a good, solid article takes about ten hours of work, and my days off are actually disappearing just as unpredictably. ("Did I say see you on Christmas? I meant can you come over tomorrow at 8am.) I'm finding as much writing time in the cracks as I can, but the first couple of hours of writing each day go towards my work in progress, and I am in desperate need of a few days with nothing going on to write out ahead of my posting schedule.
This time of year, man. I swear to fuck! Yell "This is Sparta!" and kick it down an inauspiciously placed bottomless pit already.
Our poll should still go up tonight (if I survive going shopping three days before Christmas) and I'll find some kind of jazz hands for tomorrow, but at the rate life is sending Armageddon opening scene caliber meteorites into the New York City of my free time, Star Wars might have to wait.
Jesus Fucking Christ did I just make that metaphor? I need some goddamned sleep.
Day jobs and writing are rarely two great tastes that taste great together but remember to keep plugging at your word-smithing (and preferably a little every day) no matter how life tries to triple-suplex you.