I was lamenting to my sister yesterday about my travel-filled August. All my trips will be fun, yes, but being gone every single weekend takes away opportunities for things like laundry, dusting, sweeping the floor, watering the plants. Anyway, my sister and I had just completed a lengthy discussion of how we are both super busy right now with our self-employment work. I said, "There is just no way I can do all these chore-type things during the week with work and all."
She said, "I don't understand. What work? I know you're tutoring a little and writing a few articles..."
I was so taken aback. I agonize over articles. I lose sleep. I wake up at three am with a phrase in my head and turn on the lights to write it down in a notebook I keep beside my bed. I have a 20 word assignment to write something about Jeep and it takes up just as much of my time as the 1,000 word investigation of bicycle polo.
Writing is work. Writing is the hardest work I've ever done--so much harder than working in the factory or even harder than Cross Fit. This job I picked? There is not one thing easy about it. But I have to write. There is just nothing else I can do and still feel alive. That's what makes it wonderful. But please don't assume it isn't time consuming.
I know this is a long road I have ahead of me in terms of people not fully understanding my job. Heck, all the neighbors think I'm a housewife. I just want to put a big sign in my yard that says I WORK REALLY HARD EVEN WHEN IT LOOKS LIKE I AM STARING OUT MY WINDOW. I DON'T SLEEP AT NIGHT.
I just want to type it one more time to make myself feel better. I work.