Somethings Gotta Give

I finished Faerylander yesterday, and for the first time, I'm completely happy with it.

But it was a pretty intense few weeks getting it done, and I look up and see that I've neglected other things.

For some reason, I've gotten on the Fed's list of places to go for statistics.  I'm constantly having to fill out forms, or answer surveys.  I got some sort of census survey and stuck it in my pile, even though it was emblazoned with "required by law."

Hey, how important is it really?  I've got writing to do!

But apparently I got a call at the store the other day and have to call them back.  Oh, oh.

My beard has gotten long, unnoticed.  My mustache is interfering with my eating.

And oh, by the way, I've lost about 8 pounds simply by forgetting to eat.

I hired a landscaping service, that is going to be more costly than I thought, but at least that is out of my hair.

My bills have piled up, and no doubt most of them are overdue, probably dangerously overdue.

I dismantle the painting easel from the landing -- who am I kidding? 

The weather has been beautiful, and I've been stuck in dark room.  I haven't been to a movie or read a book in months.  We haven't been on one of our little vacation trips in a long time.

All because of writing.  Writing, that frankly, will probably never pay off monetarily.

I keep saying I want to moderate, but I don't seem to be able to be both moderate and a writer.

Being a writer is excessive, it's unhealthy, its silly.

But I like it.