There is sooo much to dooo ... the cards are half addressed, but lacking stamps and photos; need to haul out the holly and deck them halls (and mistletoe and presents for pretty girls ... ), start the gift buying, and wrapping, and mailing. Need to run to the post office to mail long-overdue letters/magazines to friends. Bills in the mail. Hair appointment. Proper foundation garment for perfect party dress (found hanging in my closet, no less!).
Oh — and I have work to do. Real work. The kind I get paid for. I like my job. I like the title, the perks, the recognition, the money. And I don't mind some of the work. Being an editor sounds much more glamorous than it is; I like writing some stories, don't mind assigning some, editing them as they come in. But I don't like dealing with the corrections, compiling the calendar and the briefs. Ick. More importantly, I like the idea of work getting done. But the actual doing of the work? Not so much fun. I want to be able to snap my fingers and bask in the glory.
Not in this life. Must run — time waits for no one. Cheers!
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