I woke up one day to find myself living in a surreal-sounding year called two-thousand-nineteen, working three jobs.
Three jobs! There’s definitely truth to that saying that if you wanted to make God laugh, tell him your plans. I have always considered myself a specialist; I am only ever good at writing so that’s the only thing I’ll do. If I had to tell you how I ended up to be living my current life, we’ll finish past the first blush of dawn, if I make good time (it’s past 10 pm as I write this). Long story short, I’m a creative person with a practical mindset, who makes careful decisions most of the time only to throw caution to the wind when I’m stuck and bored.
Love for variety tides me over. My three jobs, of varying time demands, have nothing to do with one another, aside from all of them involving putting affairs in order, making things run smoothly. Fit my tidy, organized side well. I learn a lot and that’s the best part. Jill-of-some-trades. I come home to another creative who’s been alone all day (forget specialist–he’s a purist!) with his ideas that he’s eager to bounce off to someone. And somehow, I’m finding time to write. The goal is to finish a draft of my second novel this fall.
In this very forward-sounding year, my days seem frenzied, my lifestyle flighty. I’m more protective than ever of my time but I feel freer. I’m more selective of the people I spend time with, the activities I devote my time to, but I’m more engaged. I don’t endorse my choices though. To each her own.
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