I've had a rough past few weeks. "Die on your sword," kinda rough.
My Sandman book is one chapter deep now. I've learned a lot about non-fiction writing through it. Actually, it's been really great, all things considered. But my body has taken it's toll. I've been stripped pretty bad. I wouldn't be surprised if I have an ulcer or some kind of gastrointestinal, stress related condition from all the work I've been doing.
I wish I could tell you things have been, "great." I can't and I'll tell you why.
When you work to pay the bills and do what you love to do, two dual lives constantly demanding attention in your life, there is a certain etiquette that must be maintained. Each "boss" doesn't want to know you're stretched thin, tired, pissed off. You are trying to survive extreme cold and extreme heat back and fourth. That is what it's like, and this week I compromised the balance. I don't mean in a bad way, but I just mean in a shitty way.
I feel like rock getting wailed on by a sledgehammer. Today I'll try to see the doctor for a follow up. I'm hoping for a referral to someone who can look at my G.I. track.
Cross your fingers.