morning head: Lolly.
Just when you think you’re about to give up on a show, that it’s only just worth wasting three quarters of an hour of your life for, it goes and gets all meta, and suddenly it’s near midnight, you’re four episodes down, and the four a.m. get up is toast.
The to-do list, already a Homerian epic, is staring balefully at me from the desk. Prioritising is not my strong suit. I have a skewed sense of responsibility. No other writing until current contractual obligations are fulfilled sounds reasonable. Unless of course, the redrafting, is getting shunted in favour of trying to fix the motorcycle, again, and making cold-brewed coffee and cleaning the house.
You know things are getting dire when mopping the fucking floor is higher up the list than getting paid.
No spending time on other projects, because I ought to be finishing the one already signed off on. Avoid revisions like the lunatic on the bus who’s trying to give away lollies that’ve probably been up his bum. Instead find anything that can conceivably be considered more urgent than… ooh, look, all those empty whisky bottles on the back of my desk could do with a dusting.