Sometimes I Suck

I'm angry with myself again. Writing is a wonderful pain in the ass. Actually, it's not--life, then, is a pain in the ass, because life is what eats up the time I'd otherwise spend writing. Sleep, eating, purchasing food, wahsing clothing so you have un-filthy things to wear, showing up to work, exercising to keep from going stir-crazy...all of these things have to be done. I also like doing them, and there are only so many hours in a day.

Meanwhile, I'm also planning a wedding. This is not time intensive, but it sucks up a lot of energy. And my wedding is small! I can't imagine what a big wedding would do to a person.

The idea of living in a totally messy house, eating stale crackers at 9pm for dinner and waking up at 5am to complete something before go to the day job is somewhat romantic, but not realistic at all. I'm not sure where the compromise is between quality of life and quantity of writing output. I like having a steady paycheck and health insurance. But I also come here and realize that no one know the person I actually am. Sometimes this job makes me feel expendable and unskilled. Outside of the chocolate and salary, it might be a waste of time. Chocolate and a salary are two very important things, however.

Time for breakfast and coffee. Maybe some day I'll figure it all out, probably not. These struggles never reslove themselves, even for real writers.