So… it pains me to say this.
I got another job.
BELIEVE ME—it’s not what I wanted either. In fact, it was sort of the opposite of what I’d wanted since getting up every morning to write for hours in my recliner is kind of the best thing ever. But with the way our economy works, I’m not paid to use my real talents (yet) but rather, to sit and learn a specific system in a specific company that over 300 people have also applied to sit and learn, even though that terrible little voice still asks why am I here?
Yeah. That’s where I am.
Don’t get me wrong—I’m excited to know I’ll be able to pay October’s rent. I’m super attached to this whole living in an apartment and not on the street thing, so, win there. But I really wanted to take more time off to write. Really write. I’m getting Escape from Harrizel out there soon and hopefully, it won’t be detested by all and hordes of hate email won’t flood my inbox. (If it does though, Seattle and I have already agreed a night of cake icing and wine is in order. Obviously.) But the book’s coming out mid October and even though I’m working on the next installment, I want to be a successful writer now. Yesterday. Maybe ten years ago?
And my new chair at work makes fart noises when I move. No joke. It’s a comfortable nap chair but I’m constantly leaning forward or shifting to this side or the other and every time this sound emits and I feel obligated to explain it wasn’t me. Every time. But I don’t want to be known as that girl with the fart-chair. I don’t want to be fart-chair girl. Who would? I try and keep still and only move when I really have to, but there are beeping machines and filing cabinets surrounding me and I need something FROM ALL OF THEM. SIMALTANEOUSLY. It’s like I went to a Mexican restaurant and ordered the extra bean taco. Maybe the smartest defense would be bringing in some perfume or a candle. Just so they are convinced it’s really the chair. Unless they think I’m covering up for something… in which case this plan is flawed.
I guess I’ll just be fart-chair girl until my identity as Super-Awesome-Author arrives.
Please buy my book so I can be the latter.