Chickens

I feel like a chicken, running around with it's head cut off.

Just running blindly into the next disaster.

Ok it's really not all that bad but I really am very swamped. I don't even know when I can go back to me own office yet, even though I was assured I would know by mid week. And I'm gone on a conference thingy tomorrow.

And in the next 2 days, I have to do laundry, grocery shopping, get my hair cut, clean the damn apartment (cause it needs it badly), and find some time to write down these amazing ideas I'm having for my novel. Where does all the time go?

Seriously, after the retreat I found that I've been afraid to actually succeed in writing. Now that I know that, and am trying to move past it, it's like inspiration keeps hitting me on the head and I don't have enough time to sit down and write it all out. Grrrrrr....

Oh well, look at the time. I have to go. The end of the day has come, I've managed to transfer all the work I would be doing at my office here, and have been busy all day so that now I have to go home and do all that other work before I can get down to what I really want to do. My real work. My writing. My Novel.

So close and yet so far. Why does the stupid world have to keep revolving in 24 hour increments. I would just like one 30 hour day and enough energy to last through all the hours of it.

Oh to live in a fairy tale world.... maybe that'll be my next book.

Dust