where does the time go . . .
Things are so unbelievably busy at work. I'm forever bringing something home and I don't mind it, the work needs to be done and I want to do it well and I love doing it. But then I'm left with half an hour before bed to write. If that. And I wonder when this book will ever be finished and when I can ever go on to the next book, the next project. And I dare not begin a project simultaneoulsy, when this one is in such desperate need to be finished.
And back to work I go.
And back to work I go.