Time is not my friend. We really don’t get along. Not at all. Whenever I need it, it is nowhere to be found. But whenever I want things to happen quickly, time is all over the place. Cutting ahead of me in line. Borrowing my favorite clothes. Lounging on the couch in saggy pajamas, eating my potato chips, not shifting an inch, not in any hurry to get things moving …
And now, when I’m on vacation, trying to wind down after more months than I care to remember in the insanely fast work lane … Time just keeps rushing. The days pass me by in a blur and soon it will be time to go home and back to work.
I’m afraid that it will happen before I’ve had a chance to unwind. I really, really need a break before I jump into the next year’s writing, but time is still moving at that insane working-way-too-hard pace. I can’t keep it up, all year long, I just can’t. But I’m afraid that I will have to.
One book is nothing in this indie publishing, do-it-all-yourself (did-you-really-think-you-could-do-it-all?) world. I’ve got to write another one. And another one after that. The sooner the better.
But not this week.
This week, I’m on vacation. And it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. I’m missing my own pillow, and packed all the wrong clothes, and …
And I’m still stressing, even though I’m not getting any work done, even though I’m not writing.
So could someone just hit pause? Just stop the clock for a day or two, to give me a chance to re-boot, re-group, re-focus.
Re-member what it is that I’m supposed to be doing.
Breathe in. And then out.