Write stuff
I write for a living. I'm a reporter. It's just so fucking frustrating that I can no longer bring myself to write anything else other than these inane blog entries no one gets to read anyway and my stories for work.
I wrote eight stories today. I don't know how I did it, on top of some petty personal issue I'm trying to get over with. One stock market report, one property story, five corporate stories, and one for economy. My editor prolly kept an exclusive or two, so that's one or two more stories of mine that I wrote earlier this week coming out tomorrow. I feel like a robot hitting those keystrokes in rapid motion, my pupils dilating as I stare at the menacing glow of my laptop with Microsoft Word running perpetually.
I got home around 30 minutes ago after having dinner with Cliff, Ann sikatokz n ballerynna. It's half an hour to midnight and I'm supposed to be churning out a much-delayed story for a community blog I signed up for. I'm a trifle embarrassed at my non-submissions the past two weeks, but overall, I'm just pooped. Here's hoping I get something done before the sun rises.
I wrote eight stories today. I don't know how I did it, on top of some petty personal issue I'm trying to get over with. One stock market report, one property story, five corporate stories, and one for economy. My editor prolly kept an exclusive or two, so that's one or two more stories of mine that I wrote earlier this week coming out tomorrow. I feel like a robot hitting those keystrokes in rapid motion, my pupils dilating as I stare at the menacing glow of my laptop with Microsoft Word running perpetually.
I got home around 30 minutes ago after having dinner with Cliff, Ann sikatokz n ballerynna. It's half an hour to midnight and I'm supposed to be churning out a much-delayed story for a community blog I signed up for. I'm a trifle embarrassed at my non-submissions the past two weeks, but overall, I'm just pooped. Here's hoping I get something done before the sun rises.