This will be one of the most scattered posts you’ve read from me. Mostly it is my excuse for not writing a real post. It could easily be titled Why The Dog Ate My Post.
I don’t know if this is normal for other people, but normally (with one exception, where I outlined a novel on the plane, back from WFC and worked feverishly starting the minute I landed) it takes me two/three days after a con to “land” fully – i.e., to return to my routines and proper mind.
This year was different. First, there was Miranda’s vet emergency. And then I seem to have come down with sinus infection from beyond.
Now, is this my excuse for having done nothing this week? No. I’ve worked this week. First, I wrote about 5k words on the novel and second I have finished rewriting what I had of the novel, which needed it before I could go on.
However, I’ve had to PUSH myself to work, and it hasn’t always been my best quality work. And I feel exhausted all the time. I have a basket of ironing waiting to be done, for instance, that I’ve simply NOT felt equal to.
Part of the point of this post is that I don’t give myself permission to just not work but on the other hand, I need to give myself permission to be “lame” for a few days.
Anyway – in my defense it’s not quite eight pm here, and I’m going to bed in a few minutes. This, in me at least, means I’m not well. And yet, because my boss – like Dave Freer I work for myself. I have a terrible boss – is a slave driver, I feel guilty about this and guilty about this disjointed post. I’m still going to bed.
Do you ever feel guilty for allowing your body to just rest? Do you worry you’re not pushing enough? Do you forgive me for this ridiculous post?
PS - In my new – gggggrrrroan – blog at http://accordingtohoyt.com I’m asking for recommendations on romances to read. Sound off if you have the time. If I'm going to bed at ridiculously early hours (and it happens a bit in winter, due to getting sick) I might as well read.
Posts
