A revelation ... of sorts

I hate writing. I really do. It's like pulling teeth for me. Just the act of sitting down and opening the computer to do something other than surf the Web is painful.

And yet I write. Prolifically? No, much to my chagrin. There are far too many distractions around me for my own liking.

The great irony is that I don't have a day job. I used to, but five years ago I quit it in order to devote all my time to writing. In those five years It seems though that I've written less than I did when I was still in the workplace. Perhaps it was the workplace stimulation, or the people I encountered each day. Whatever the reason, I do remember the fun I had sneaking moments of writing into my day and trying not to get caught.

That's it. I'll hire someone to randomly show up at my home and catch me "in the act". Perhaps that way I can get back that old feeling of being naughty and getting away with it, which is a lot more fun than the complete autonomy I have now.

I suppose I could always get another day job, working for close to minimum wage, with pinheads who have half the education I've received, and who spend most of their time gossiping viciously about co-workers just so they can feel better about their own miserable lives, all the while being inspired by the madness and scribbling random thoughts on company time.

On the other hand, I could simply take pharmaceuticals and get the same result.