We had somebody quit in our department and our supervisor has been out for a few months taking care of her husband. That left three of us to do five work loads. And, apparently, they are not going to hire anybody. No wonder I'm stressed and wore out. Plus our clientele are extremely demanding and needy. And my co-workers get on my last nerve. I could go on, but I'll spare you any more of my pain.
I wish I could just stay home and write. I've been racking my brain trying to figure out a way to do that. It would require moving into Public Housing so my rent and utilities would be paid. Not the worst place to live, but not my favorite either. I would have to be careful with my meager pension. No frivolity. Or, son, I could move in with you. Just kidding. Pick yourself up off the floor.
I wonder if I could stand to be by myself that much? Would I drive myself crazy?
People ask why I can't quit since I'm close to being published? Don't writers make a lot of money? No. Not unless your name is Stephen King or Nora Roberts. The money just isn't there. I write because I enjoy it. There's nothing like creating characters and telling their story.
That old saying comes to mind. "Be careful what you wish for." So true. I know there are things in my life I thought I wanted, but later I realized it wasn't such a good thing.
Do you have a wish?
Are you sure you really want it?