Having to temporarily put aside writing your book or novel in pursuit of the need to pay your bills can get frustrating, if not right out snarky. I don’t know about you, but I find myself waking in the middle of the night from dreams in which I am chained to my laptop, bright lights shining in my eyes, the rhythmic sound of water dripping on cement, and someone bending over my shoulder saying, “Ve hav taken your manuscript, and you vil not get it back until you hav done exactly as we hav told you. Ya? You understand?”
Heart pounding in my chest, hands shaking, I reach out and turn on the bedside lamp, and find not cement, bright lights and an evil presence hovering over me but textured walls; their eggshell dull white a reminder that the only way I’m ever going to afford to paint them something else, is to start earning more than the moment by moment, bill by bill existence I’m currently in.
Now I’m so depressed I find myself tempted to crawl into Rex’s hamster cage and get on the wheel of nine to five jobs.
The saving grace, I force myself to go back over the litany of just how much I hate nine to five jobs (I’d rather do six to three, or twelve to nine, in sweats with a fine cup of joe at my elbow), and how, after busting my butt to get my certification in the medical field, I realized staring at people’s digestive charts all day was similar to dying by asphyxiation. Slow and painful.
Don’t get me wrong. I admire people who are genuinely compassionate enough to care about my internal combustion, and am willing to spend eight to ten hours out of everyday looking at mine and thousands of others. I’m just not one of them.
So while I whine about how little time I have to spend on either of my books at this point, I console myself with the knowledge that the time I spend blogging, ghost blogging and submitting articles, is in and of itself an investment in a much better future than barium mixes, IBS, enemas and gastroscopic investigations I left behind.
And since I won’t get back to sleep now for a couple of hours, I decide to beat the Nazi nightmare at its own game, dig around on my flash drive, and sneak in a few hours to work on my neglected manuscript.
From the laptop of an uncensored dreamer,