And it’s only taken me two years, two months and three days. Well… seven years and nine months if you count the last book I actually finished writing, which incidentally never got to see the light of day.
It’s no secret that I’ve been struggling with writing. I thought I’d have more time to write when I started living alone, but whoo boy was I wrong. What nobody tells you about working a full-time job and managing your own household all by yourself is you just never have time for anything. The nine-to-six life is not ideal for a writer. By the time you crawl back to your apartment you’re just too exhausted to do anything that requires oiling the cogs of your tired brain even further. All I want to do is have my dinner, a nice cup of tea and lose myself in a completely mindless activity (usually Netflix).
Writing is not the only aspect of my life that’s suffering. I have 155 unread books on my shelves. I have a whole trunk of ink bottles and calligraphy supplies that are collecting dust. My inbox has over +1000 unread emails and I’m scared to go through them. And this blog is just… cobwebs all over, I swear.
But anyway. There will be a time for a life update later (if any of my followers are still hanging around enough to care haha). But for now… I FINISHED A GODDAMN BOOK. Continue reading “I finished a book!”