It feels funny that after all the energy and enthusiasm of travelling, and the devoted precision with which I managed to get things done over the first half of the year, the next months look to me like a long dive into the multiple piles of paper I have at my workstation. My colleagues say I'm paranoid because I print everything out: drafts, reports, email threads - because I like to have these physical copies on hand if anything goes wrong. Typical cover backside attitude.
Right now I would love to write or to daydream, but constant worry over the deadlines I'e got to meet (at work, for the anthology) eats me out. So I settle for running and swimming as usual. It's all I can seem to do right now without feeling any sort of negative emotion.