And right now, I'm totally fucking things up. I'm supposed to be doing X, Y, and Z. And I'm not. What I'm doing is finding balance in a daily life that, at the moment, does not involve writing a book. It's amazingly difficult to make that shift.
Oh, yeah, I have enough to eat and a roof over my head and so this is absolutely a so-called "First World Problem." What can I say? I live in the first world.
Were I fortunate enough to live in the non-first-world AND be literate and have access to a medium, well --- I'd still be bitching. Except it would be something like "okay that crop is in and and now what do I do while I'm waiting?" -- Except in this case, the "crop" is a book because I live in the first world where I have the luxury and the joy of making a book instead of making enough grain to store for the winter.
So. There you go. My brain is utterly focused on making, thinking, living distinctions among and between near-starvation and utter ease.
As the Wicked Witch said: "What a world, what a world."
More later, and, hey!, perhaps even more coherently later.
That's why this is an internal memo.