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Headache has not gone away. Oogh. Didn't do German last night either because it was a struggle just to get stuff written and focus on that. I did wind up watching CSI Miami for no really good reason, but because it was directed by Rob Zombie and had Malcolm McDowell, Michael Madsen, and Paul Blackthorne in it. It was entertaining when David Caruso wasn't on the screen pissing me off with his inability to do anything subtle. Either that or by now they've given up on playing any of it seriously and are giving the comedy shows parody fodder. My favorite part, though, was Paul Blackthorne's character interrupting one of Horatio's lame pun deadpan deliveries with "Excuse me?" in that incredulous you actually said that voice.

Oogh. Working on Long Road right now, as well as two other pretty sizable writing projects. I must be frigging insane. On the plus side, neither of them have soon-to-be-reached deadlines, and it's possible I'll have an early day home for snow today. Which basically means going to work, blitzing through as much work as possible. And getting to the bank to make that deposit so I'm not skimming the surface when I write that rent check. Ugh. And then tonight I need to print out everything and balance my books.

So tired. So much crap to get done in the next little while. So little damn time to do it in. I really don't like this, but. I signed on for all of it, so here I go. (And no, this isn't about the Big Bangs, this is just about, life, being a writer, etc.)

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I'm tired. I feel sick. I have way too many projects going on at once and I have no idea how the fuck that happened. I'm managing to balance them all somehow and, more importantly, to keep moving on all of them but dear lord why am I doing this to myself? Did I ever do this when I was younger? And if so, how did I manage, or was it just as bad as I think? And did I just use the phrase "when I was younger?"

Oh, right. When I was younger, i.e. writing novels in high school, I didn't have a job. I didn't have bills to pay. I had my senior project to finish which was, gasp, a novel. And then I had summer holidays. I miss those days.

You know, I shouldn't be using this icon. I'm not worrying about bills. I'm vaguely worrying about being able to get to work tomorrow, but not so much. I need to discuss airline tickets at some point when I have brain cells again, but that should be some time between now and Sunday, and I have an idea of when all the dates are. My projects are mostly on time. So why the fuck am I stressed?

Oh, right. Because 'on time' does not include very much time at all for life to occur. You know, that fun little thing that happens while you're making plans? Like this sick. I did not plan to get sick. I cannot get sick. Right now it's just a low-grade fever, but it's still baking my noodles and I cannot get sick. I have Stuff to do. I have fic to edit, I have fic to write, and I have shit I have to get done. I just...

When does it stop? When do we get breaks?

And why the hell do all artists for the Big Bangs only want two to five story types and it's never the ones I'm interested in? Seriously. I do not want to write Wincest or Holmes/Watson. Especially not graphic porno Holmes/Watson, gender bent, zombie apocalypse, or anything like that. Christ. Is it too much to ask that someone share my interest in a comm that narrowly devoted? Apparently it is.

Maybe I'm just bitching and moaning because I'm tired, I'm stressed, and I'm feverish. Artist pickups are open till the 16th. I can wait.

Guh. I'm tired. And all I want to do is whine, and you don't want to hear it, and I don't want to re-read it. More solving fictional people's problems. That, at least, I can do.