Is it possible? I used to be able to take the ebbs and flows of freelance life with ease, trotting off to the coffee shop for a session of reading and window-gazing on days like today.
The work keeps coming, this I know. But I haven't pitched a solid story in months, it seems, and I'm out of practice so I should be boning up on the cold emails and the perfectly crafted pitch. And the coffee shop doesn't feel appealing.
Maybe it's my new status as wife and dog-owner? I do feel a twinge of guilt when I spend money on myself, knowing my guy carefully calculates how many colour copies he can make with the bit of change in his pocket. And the guilt upon leaving Foster for anything that doesn't directly relate to filling his bowl (or meeting his vet appointments) ... well, that's a given.
Maybe it's just this new office. What's different? For one, I can't stare out the window at passersby. I thought that was a good thing, an attention-saver.
And another thing: we don't have a kettle, which means tea time is a confusing task of boiling water, standing by the stove (dont' want another *accident*), and then re-heating said water after the first cup is done. Might as well have taken the dog for another walk, with all the walking and impatient looks.
Lastly, the house is a mess. The last house was also often a mess, but this room is smaller. Fewer places to look.
That's it. This afternoon, I'll clean. It's the only way to justifiably use my time and energy in an act that will benefit all -- and hopefully feed my writing life.
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