I'm sitting here next to a stack of notebooks. (I have this weird fetish with having to have one for everything.) Problem is I don't really get around to labeling them, and no matter how many I have I can't ever seem to find one when I need it, so I just grab whichever is near.
I thought it might be fun to dig up an old poem, and no matter what the notebook was SUPPOSED to be for, there is bound to be one or a dozen poems with in the pages of any one of them.
So I pick one up just now and wouldn't you know it, it just happens to be the one I've been using for work.
WORK. Blah. I didn't want to be reminded that I have WORK to do!
Now I have guilt.
Gee, look at the time. I'd be doing myself and my client a great disservice by doing ANY work for them at this time.
BUUAATT.... I probably COULD go do some 'research'. Yeah, that's it. Research. To a writer, reading things that other people write, is research.
Suddenly i'm not so tired. I've got WORK to do!
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What's in your head?