Working. Seriously working. Like not Mon-Fri, 9-5 working, but Mon-Sun, 7-11 working. It’s been insane, but greatly needed. Client work was slow this year; nearly dried out my bank account. Luckily, in the last three weeks, I’ve been able to make what I typically would have in three months, so my hiatus from Sex, Life, & Hannah has been a good thing.
The break has also been good for my creative juices. I got on a roll in late August and September. Wrote three damn good chapters of the next book, and then, the craziness. But in the back of my mind the stories have been formulating, dying to burst out, so the next time I have a bit of peace and quiet (probably after Halloween)…some good writing is gonna go down.
I’ve also been thinking about getting an assistant again. The “to do” list has now stretched from the 2009 day timer, to the 2010 day timer, to a new white board in my office, and I have hundreds of emails in each of my five inboxes. It’s gotten out of control, and with my new client schedule, I want a clone, or the next best thing: a really great assistant.
Oh, how this frightens me though. The people that would work, are unavailable or out of budget, so I’m stuck with…Craigslist?
Good people are hard to find…in all aspects of life, as I was unkindly reminded this past Sunday, when the girl hubbie and me were letting stay at our place for nearly two months left, without saying thank you. Hubbie tells me I need to let it go, and I agree, but writing about it, is part of my process.
Even if you decided you hate me (such a strong word, but I suppose possible), even if I somehow crossed you (also possible), I gave you a roof over your head when you didn’t have one. The respectful thing to do was say thank you upon exiting my house, or writing a thank you note if you cared not to look me in the eye (obviously). But you chose neither route; you chose to burn the bridge instead. I wish you well, and can only hope that the next time you’re in this situation, you will have the decency to say thank you to someone that has helped you.
There. I feel better now. What else…
Hubbie and me ended up at the Parlour Room Saturday night. What began as light chit chat over cocktails quickly turned to an airing of grievances of the past few months.
“You know, for rich or for poor means you don’t give up on US and start acting like a bitch the minute things get tight for longer than a week,” hubbie declared, then swigged his whiskey and coke.
I reminded hubbie things have been “tight” for A LOT longer than a week, and that I’m not used to “tight”. “Tight” leads to stagnation and boredom, and I don’t do well when I’m bored. “When I was single and ‘tight’ it was a lot different. I’d just go whore around for a while to amuse myself, but I’m married, and you haven’t yet agreed to a sabbatical.”
“You know, I’m really getting tired of the sabbatical conversation.”
I tell the bartender I need another. “Yeah well, I didn’t factor in things getting mundane when I signed the contract.”
The bartender shoves two fresh drinks in front of us. Hubbie picks his up, and then pauses, “neither did I.”
The next morning, maybe trying to prove something, or maybe just tired of masturbating, we fucked. And it was not mundane.
p.s. Bowling for Boobies was a very cool event. I feel good I’m supporting the cause.
p.p.s. Jack is coming for Halloween. It’s always good to see Jack.