I have so much to do that I can not possibly blog, yet here I am, because, people (see? I'm quoting HTMS), the pressure is ON. But one should always look in the mirror and tell oneself, "I cannot possibly keep up with THOSE people, so I will just shuffle on my humble little way."
And then everyone says, "Oh no, little you, we like you!" Which they do, thank god, otherwise they would not put up with my generally pitiful ways.
That aside, (ahem!), so. much. to. do.
And yet...I find myself looking at the internet and the craniumtext and the other things that exist only to make you sad about your productivity/self/lack of more and cuter dogs.
Okay people, it is TRUE that I have a manuscript. It is also TRUE that I do not have an agent, nor do I have any requests from agents, nor do I have any time to whore myself out to agents (right now), but rest assured I will be whoring shortly. I do not have a sabbatical or a grant or a bundle of money left to me by some philanthropist. Nor do I have a summer home or a lean to or a shack that wants nothing more than for me to sit in it and write.
So Boo Hoo!
I have a dining room table and some raw pepper slices and a To Do list that reads like the Grinch's list of all the different ways Christmas came in spite of his having a too-small heart and a soul made of garlic.
You know, we all have a lot to do, I just happen to be the person who quite possibly is the best at complaining about it.