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Okay, not having access to the computer I write on is really driving me insane. I finally decided to continue on with the fantasy story I started (after a fit of frustration in which I deleted more of it than I should have) and now I can't even go do anything about it. I'm such a procrastinater already that I need to strike while the iron is hot or I might never get the inclination back; I'm trying to tell my mother that we NEED to dig out the computer so I can get some work done, but she just nods and then shrugs me off like it doesn't matter.
I still don't think she gets how important my writing is to me. For years and years I've been stating that I am a writer and will never be happy doing anything else; I need to write and fully intend to make a career out of it, and yet for all she professes to be supportive, she still treats it like it's a hobby. It's not a smegging hobby, it's work! Taking away my computer with my writing on it is like taking away all the computers at some businessman's office; it's not just an inconvienince, it grinds everything to halt. I am going out of my smegging mind, and she won't even help me just to move things around enough to get to the computer. It wouldn't be that hard, I could probably do it myself, but I can't, because if I move things around without her approval she'll have a fit.
So here I am, stuck, and my mind otherwise unoccupied with my current story, I have been dangerously lured into coming up with new stories, which will now probably distract me from what I'm supposed to be working on should we even actually dig out the computer any time soon. Grr. And oy.
I still don't think she gets how important my writing is to me. For years and years I've been stating that I am a writer and will never be happy doing anything else; I need to write and fully intend to make a career out of it, and yet for all she professes to be supportive, she still treats it like it's a hobby. It's not a smegging hobby, it's work! Taking away my computer with my writing on it is like taking away all the computers at some businessman's office; it's not just an inconvienince, it grinds everything to halt. I am going out of my smegging mind, and she won't even help me just to move things around enough to get to the computer. It wouldn't be that hard, I could probably do it myself, but I can't, because if I move things around without her approval she'll have a fit.
So here I am, stuck, and my mind otherwise unoccupied with my current story, I have been dangerously lured into coming up with new stories, which will now probably distract me from what I'm supposed to be working on should we even actually dig out the computer any time soon. Grr. And oy.
