Three day weekend. I will be ignoring my emails and deleting any that come in on Monday which ignore my out of office message – one that says in plain English that I will be doing so. Three days just for me, one either side bookending what has ended up the most important day of the year for me. It’s been a long month, but it’s worth it to be here at last, and to know there’s even a slight chance that over this three-day weekend TWR will hit 40K words. The me of yesteryear couldn’t write half a novel in the middle of coordinating the digital strategy for three colleges in the midst of the second wave of a global pandemic on zero holiday since March. If that’s tooting my own horn, then I guess maybe I don’t do it enough.
I don’t make new year resolutions, even on actual new years – though in part that’s because I despise New Years Eve, not using that word lightly. But 2Y1K, I think it’s time I made one: Enough. Less work, I’ll do ‘enough’. Less pressure – I’ll do enough and let that be. And sending work off to publishers? Well if I want to become a published writer, I guess in this case, I need to do a little more to reach enough. You only get one life, and I don’t want to spend the rest of it here. Well, that’s only partly true; as I look out my window, I think I could stay here for the rest of my days without an ounce of regret. The rain was nice, but I appreciate a good metaphor as much as anyone, and cliched as it is, it’s nice to see the sun is out.