I’m getting some work done, despite not being able to go to the office today. I’m hoping to get at least as much done today as I did yesterday, but we’ll see. My daughter is being, well, a toddler, and that’s making things interesting to say the least. Part of me is wishing that I had brewed that midnight oil last night, but I can’t change the past.
I will be burning it tonight, though, because I so want to get this done. But I have to ask myself, what is considered done? Finishing a novel? I’ve done that so many times already, in fact I haven’t even started a new one, but am working on making the one I am working on sparkle. I really don’t think I ever will be done, honestly. I’ll be writing on my death-bed, begging who ever is in charge to let me finish before calling me out of this life.