Dreaming through the noise.

Despite the fact that it's Tuesday.

Tomorrow, I "go back to work" after two weeks off. I put the phrase in quotes because, well, I don't actually go anywhere with the whole working-from-home thing. Hell, some days, I'm lucky I make it out of my pajamas. (Maybe I should have made a New Year's resolution regarding getting dressed everyday...)

Regardless, it still drops me into the typical Sunday-mood, lamenting the end of my time off.

I think it's exacerbated this time around since I've been sick since the 24th and spent most of this last week on the couch, drinking tea and Theraflu and trying to avoid coughing fits, so I haven't done anything I thought I might do while having time off.

Hell, I should be honest with myself. I probably wouldn't have gotten much done even if I hadn't felt like a used tissue (ragged and snotty) most of the time. The fact is, I usually am more creatively productive when I have other (mundane, daily) obligations poking at me. (It stems partly from some internal juvenile rebellion I never managed to shake.)


I do this to myself after every scheduled vacation. Lament the end of it, bemoan having to go back to work, console myself with my Furlough Fridays and the slow procession of us gaining new projects (a double edged sword; I'd take the shitloads of work over having no income, of course), which means I have additional time--to myself--to get to the things I didn't get to during my vacation.

So, with that in mind, I'm setting a goal, for this Friday, of making the last few tweaks to an old short story I just had my new writers group critique; I doubt it'll go out this weekend, but it needs to be readied.

Beyond that, I'm going to get back in the groove of scribbling in my impossible things journal, responding to writing prompts over in the blogspot community, and continuing on with drafting vignettes for Dispatches from New Vegas.