The Ten Second Commute.
Jennifer
Anne Gregory
As a
freelance writer it’s a given I work from home, or, if I hitch a plane to
England, my mother’s. Mostly my day goes a bit like this and I hope my
publisher has suddenly lost the ability to read.
Plan
to write.
Get
dragged down the road by the Mastiff and Anatolian (dogs).
Respond
to e-mails.
Plan
to write.
Get
dragged again.
Do
laundry ‘coz being at home I see it pile up.
Eat
lunch.
Plan
some writing time.
Text,
skype or call my mother to apologize for not texting, skyping or calling since
the last time a full moon fell on the third Wednesday of the month.
Plan
dinner.
Plan
to write the next day.
Plan
to convince those nearest and dearest that I do, in fact, have a job.
At
some point a friend informs me via e-mail that I have it easy. Being a writer I
must have lots of time on my hands. She
wishes she could just take ‘time off.’ Really?
Make
that both of us.
