Did you ever see a hamster on a wheel, running and running and getting no-fucking-where?
Ever see one trip?
Yeah, I know I shouldn’t laugh, but I can’t stop gobbling up all that juicy schadenfreude. Plus, it makes me feel better about the way I get off track writing. I start out on the stupid wheel, and then something shiny distracts me, or crippling seasonal depression makes me face plant, and one afternoon I find myself sitting in my rack with an hour to myself, looking at notes scribbled on napkins and scraps of paper. And I realize I’m accomplished precisely, exactly, diddly. Squat, zilch, nein, not one motherfucking word in six months.
Firstly, I blame work. When we’re out (That’s 6mo at a time) I work (Not exaggerating) from 07 to 02, with one day a week when I only work from 07 to 17. Days blur together after a week or so.
Fuck, here I am bitching when I could be futilely attempting to make progress on Z-Day.