When no one really gives a ratz anus...
I've often wondered why I try. I mean, just today, my husband let me know he has an idea for a book. I knew it. Wanna make a bet, he'll write it whilst he's unemployed and sell it? Just *puft. I work my ass off for years and he'll get it out in one second or two. I suppose I'm just trying to hard, but honestly, I don't think so. Look at this. July. The last time I wrote, it was July. That's not fair, it's just not fair. I gotta figure how the other writers do it. They have lives outside of their writing. They still teach and cough and raise kids and believe in goodness and, at the same time, pipe out enough vitrol that even Republicans might read it. Not that Republicans can read. I don't wanna make any gross generalizations about something so obviously not true. I quit my job. After so many years, I quit it. I needed something different. Something new. And it's facinating the change. Has the amount of work I do changed at all? Nope. In fact, it...