I have a short amount of editorial work to do this morning. I had enough time to do it yesterday before my second job, except that I wrote instead. Writing is the ultimate excuse. It is more important than dishes, more important than social engagements, more important than irritating editorial projects.
It’s not just my usual laziness and lack of engagement that is keeping me from wanting to complete this project. It’s rage. I do not believe in this project. I’ve figured out a way to engage with this project and keep my ethics intact, but the entire situation pisses me off.
These are not optimal working conditions.
And then there are a few other noneditorial issues (mostly involving paint) that make me cranky and an interpersonal conflict or two flaring up on the horizon. I’m doing great.
Tell me some good news, friends.