Disclaimer: If you’re reading this blog you’re probably wondering what the point of it is? Well, there isn’t one and I’m sorry about that. I’m procrastinating. It’s a perfect time to write this blog because I am procrastinating about writing about procrastination. I’m at my desk and have just devoured a whole plate of baklava and coffee and now I’m buzzed on sugar and sweet black caffeine and I don’t want to write.
You know that little statement at the start or end of fiction books? Sometimes there’s a little disclaimer about the work being fiction. That the characters and events in the book are fiction and any resemblance to people dead or alive is a coincidence.
I’m no stranger to crying in public. Usually, I’m on the train or waiting in a line and having a good ol’ bawl. Let me clarify. I’m usually reading or writing. The types of books I read elicit a strong emotional response and I find myself most mornings digging around for the least snotty tissue in the bottom of my hand bag. Gross – yes. Unavoidable – absolutely.
Sometimes I wonder how I get anything done. I’m pretty busy with my daughter, husband, house, job, reading and writing. That’s a lot to fit into one day, even when you don’t consider fitting in the back log of X-Files and Supernatural episodes I’m yet to watch.