Life… don’t talk to me about life.

My daughter turned 5 last week.  Other than that, life’s been pretty much a constant stream of “Get up; go to work; attempt to teach apathetic teenagers their own language, as well as logic, how to construct an argument, how to write effectively, and now, thanks to budget cuts, how to use a computer; pick child up from school, feed her, greet the wife, have dinner, spend two to three hours attempting to get the child to sleep, watch one show, go to bed, repeat.”

Very little time to write.  Very little time to think.  And every time somone says “If you want to write, just make yourself do it,” I want to punch them.  I’d gladly give up the one TV show I manage to watch per night if I could actually write during that time, but I’ve tried, and nothing good happens.  

Anyway, enough whining.  Back to work.


Published by Michael R. Johnston

Father of an eighth grader, high school English teacher, writer. Fifty years old and feeling almost every bit of it on some days, and not a bit of it on others. Based in Sacramento, California, USA

3 thoughts on “Life… don’t talk to me about life.

  1. I hear ya brother! Yikes. Despite my best plans to write from ten to midnight every night, I usually collapse from exhaustion when the kids go to bed.
    But I’ve also come to the realization that no one is going to sit me down in front of the computer and say, “Write! Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything else, you just worry about the writing.”
    So any time I can hoard to myself for writing, I do. Tomorrow i should be cleaning the house – it’s a disaster. But I am going to write instead. Too bad for my dirty floors. :/

  2. That last paragraph is golden. Unfortunately, my kid isn’t sleeping so well lately, so there’s even less time. More on that in a post.

  3. Famous last words, apparently. I dropped the kids off at school and a stray kitten followed me home. So, I wrote all of 200 words… :/

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