I had family here all week and Houseguest remains. I hosted 16 people for Thanksgiving, and although Spouse did all the cooking, I still had to make sure everyone had a drink and no one felt left out. Or hungry. God forbid. To say I hate most people right now would be an understatement. [Ed. note: Indy Clause acknowledges that it would be an understatement at the best of times, and this year could hardly be termed the best of times.]
The good news crawling out of the wreckage of my mental health is that I have a new medium-sized writing project. For the past few months, I’ve written a few mismatched paragraphs for an article and poems that don’t go anywhere. It’s been a needed break, but it turns out that not writing is nearly as bad as writing.
This is my first ever professional writing gig. I’m going to take the writing project into the holidays. I’m going to hole up at the Micky Mouse porch table in my sister-in-law’s attic, and I’m going to write. The goal is to be smart, brief, and funny. The word “I” isn’t going to appear once in the whole damn manuscript. Huzzah!
How do you make it through the holidays?