So, it is with a grouchy spirit that I set about this task.
I've moved back home after two months cat-sitting in a hip downtown apartment. So, I am once more beholden to someone else's chore-list, transportation needs, shower schedule and grocery preferences. In return, I get regular human contact on a daily basis, which, I admit, is something I need for bare sanity's sake. (You know you're not as much a loner as your thought you were when you start singing silly children's songs to cats...)
I got a job - a permanentish, more-than-part-time-ish job. At a grocery store. Bagging. Three-cities over in Westminster - a 1.5 hour bus ride for my utterly car-less self. I console myself with the fact that Mrs. Noe once worked at a MacDonalds, and Dr. Hake once worked as a chimney sweep. I probably need to get over my pride for good and admit that I got _myself_ into this economic train-wreck.
I'm writing little eensy weensy bits and pieces of EVERYTHING, it seems. The fantasy novel. The graphic novel. Poems. The play. The screenplay. The short story. Occasionally, I stop typing and think: "Where the hell is this all going? Where the hell am I going? Why the hell am I doing this?"
And then I start typing again.