Timesuck, Timesuck, Give Me Your Answer, Do
I am really, really in love with Pandemic 2. I could curse the UnSullen One for getting me hooked on a freakin’ flash game, but it would do no good. Currently I am playing a parasite named Taxes.
Oh, the irony.
I sent Weasel Boy to my long-suffering beta reader, the Selkie. I really can’t tell what else the book needs. I’m at an impasse. I suppose later today I’ll work in Kismet 4, since that story has swollen up like, erm, a boil.
Before I really get settled into a project like the Kismet books I find myself staring blankly into space a lot, wondering if I can pull this thing off. Worrying about it. It’s like performance anxiety, only more generalized and less sharp than, say, opening night or the eve of a book launch. It’s like a gymnast eyeing the floor or the beam or the uneven parallels before the start of a routine, running over everything in their head, feeling each twist and jerk, alpha waves hitting high and hard as they visualize.
Not that I’d know anything about gymnasts, but I figure it can’t be that different from dancing.
I found out this morning that apparently I am the only person in the bloody house who can take the rubbish out. Somehow the males lose track of what day it is when it comes to the rubbish, but not when it comes to hanging out with their friends. *sigh* Woe is me.
I HATE having to nag to get something done. I manage to remember to keep the house spinning like a top on a daily basis; why on earth do I have to beg and plead to get other adults in the house to do something, anything at all? I mean, they live here too, right? If I didn’t do the things I’m supposed to, you can bet your binky there would be complaints. But they feel free to blow me off.
Waaah. Woe is me.
Hence I am playing Pandemic. It’s a great way to get rid of some aggression. Just like Doom2.
Another way to get rid of aggression is combat scenes. Hmm. Maybe I should write a shoot-em-up in a place with a lot of glass. Yeah. That would do it.
Off I go to get rid of my not-so-social tendencies. Timesucks are great. Especially when the inside of one’s skull feels hoovered clean by a book…
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