Day 33 of 200: Nothing to Write About is Making Me Cranky

It’s 33 days into this blogging exercise, this warm-up to making my way back to writing fiction for the first time in two years, and boy do I not want to do this. At all. I want to close the lid on Gladys and go upstairs to finish Pieces of Her by Karin Slaughter.

Today didn’t suck. It didn’t do anything. It was boring. The food I ate was boring. The TV I watched was boring. Everything was boring and I’m vaguely annoyed about everything.

One good, surprising thing did happen. The client’s bookkeeper I was arguing with regarding a missing payment discovered that I was in fact, right. So getting a chunk of money I was prepared to write off will be nice.

But the rest of the day has been a big, stupid waste of time. Part of my crankiness is due to over work. I worked yesterday and today like a fool. I need to learn to say no. And I also need to do my work during the week so I don’t waste my weekends doing work when I could be doing nothing.

Thirteen more words to reach my limit, because I’m into sticking to the rules.

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