Productivity can mean many things, and I may have tried to touch all of them over the last few weeks.
I completed INDELIBLE and started submitting it. I started working again on the sequel, SWIFT JUSTICE, and the third book in the series, MAINE ISSUES.
I bought paint and started to turn my spare bedroom from a baby pink nightmare into a tastefully decorated guest room.
I continued working my way through a laundry list of "to do's" that had to be completed before the end of the year, and found myself adding to said list more than I took off it.
I even split my home project list into two--priorities and Things That Can Wait Until 2010.
How did life get so complicated? And how did my dining table disappear under various piles of paperwork that seems only to grow, even as the pile of filing for the dreaded tax season continues to increase in size as it sits on my little desk in one corner of the kitchen?
I feel animosity toward all the imaginary fingers that clutch at my valuable time with their needs, wants and threats ("if you don't do this now, you'll lose the opportunity to complete it before it expires, requires additional funds to bring it up to date, etc., etc.") and long for even an one evening that doesn't involve Working On Something Other Than Writing or even Vegging On The Couch.
I despair of ever being Caught Up.
Whatever that means...
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