I am going to be petulant this morning because I feel it is unfair to start my two days off feeling ill. Yes, whining, I know, but I had plans and now it’s 10:30 am and I am still in a housecoat, bladder strained from the pot of tea I’ve inhaled already, and with a brain veiled in a half-dizzying fog.
Not cool, Universe. Not cool.
Bound to happen. They forced a woman at work to come in even though she had bronchitis. They tell us our seating isn’t formal, that we shouldn’t try to stake out a claim to any one pod — even though sitting at your own station without sharing would cut down on the spread of germs and with the crumbling campaigns there is room enough for everyone to have their own station. I’ve harped on this before at work, that by not permitting us to feel like we have somewhere just for us, there is an anonymizing of the job itself, a dehumanizing, something hard to explain when supervisor’s desks are decked out with pictures of family and pets, drawings and doodads and all manner of space-wasting personalizers.
Okay, enough whining.
Time for some cheering.
I have been surprisingly productive on work nights lately. Mostly because I made a point of deciding that I was going to be productive. Cranked out over 1,000 words on a Saturday night after work, critiqued four of the five submissions over the weekend, and then while doing a writing exercise during the first hour of the shift and this science fiction section just blossomed out of nowhere that’s now tickling at my brain.
I came to realize (slowly, as though my brain were a dinosaur brain, naught but a pea lodged in my massive frame) that I need to stop fantasizing about what a perfect writing day might feel like and figure out how to quantify it. And that means production, that means reading and doing the crits. I’ve said else-blog that I know I am happier when I am productive, and miserable when I am not. It’s such a simple answer, but the pea-dinosaur brain howls at the simplicity.
Which is why I’m pissed that I’m feeling poorly this morning.
So, I’ll put off writing for later and sit back with a critique, the last I have to do before Thursday. If I am feeling up to it, I’ll likely go back and print out the other pieces sent before we got the group into critique mode and bring them in as well. Crits, office-related tasks, and more tea. I also need to jot some notes down on the next chapter in the novel.