NaNoPREPPED

I’ve got it.

I’ve got an idea. I’ve taken some notes. I put the project into the NaNo website and I am READY TO GO.

Photo by Kaboompics .com on Pexels.com

Happy NaNo Eve, friends!!

Angels and Demon Coworkers

Forgive me, Internet, for I have sinned. It’s been 19 days since my last post.

It’s just that I’ve been in work hell this whole time, battling my inner demons and their outer demons and the angel on my shoulder, it turns out, was just blowing smoke up my ass so I wouldn’t give up and leave her there by herself. It’s been more than your average amount of adjustment to a new job. Some day I’ll write a book about it.

But not today.

TODAY, I am here to declare: I am going to sort of try to maybe do NaNoWriMo this year. I’m not hopeful–as I say every year because every year is a fresh hell of scheduling insanity and massive teetering piles of responsibility–but I’m going to TRY. And if I fail, well then at least I will have written something which is more than I can say for the past… ohhh… so many months I can’t even count.

I am missing the process of writing. I am missing the community of writers. I’m missing the part of my soul that isn’t daily tortured by bureaucracy and inept coworkers.

Friends, I am ready to WRITE!

P.S. I’m pantsing so hard this year that I have… no… starting point for this year’s project.

 

I have no idea what I’m doooooooing! Photo by Jopwell on Pexels.com

Reappear and Rant

It has been 23 days since I posted, thank you WordPress for the reminder. But not only do I not have a lot to say, I DON’T HAVE THE TIME TO SAY IT.

I haven’t given up on writing so much as I prioritized sleeping, eating, and going to the bathroom. And sure, I hear you saying, “Eda, if you were really dedicated to your writing, you’d be racking up the word count typing on your phone with your thumbs while you pooped,” but that time is RESERVED… for 5 minute Spanish lessons on my phone. And I don’t actually sleep; I nurse. And I don’t actually eat; I inhale while I work. And actually, everything kind of sucks since I got my new day job and whole big chunks of my life are falling apart.

I recently had something to say to a relative about the concept of “making time”. I have to “make time” for myself, she says. It always seems like there isn’t enough, so you’ve gotta MAKE IT.

Bitch, no. You cannot MAKE time. You can reprioritize. You can delegate. You can quit your shitty day job. But there are consequences, you see. Not for her. Not for any of the people who give me the unsolicited advice about time management (to whom, I repeat, I do Spanish lessons in five minute increments on my phone while I poop TO FREAKING RELAX. I know how to manage time).

You know what I really need? One freaking job that pays ALL the bills. Affordable health care. Affordable childcare. Everyone I work with to do their own jobs. My husband to do his. My parents and in-laws to do theirs. If everyone else–all those jackholes telling ME to manage MY time better–could spend a little bit of their time doing anything useful, then maybe MAYBE I could just… freaking… sit there and poop.

So no, my postpartum book didn’t do well commercially (see my last post, 23 days ago) but maaaan, if I’m gonna go down the memoir road again, do I got stories. Funny, insane, heartbreaking stories. I’ll call it Chicken Soup for the Anus, subtitle: We’re All Full of Shit.