What does one buy her husband to make up for the general craziness of the writing/blogging/freelancing life putting the sex life on the back burner when Important Things Are Happening that Must Be Attended to Right This Minute? I’m thinking the man-equivalent to Something Shiny and Sparkly.
Don’t say a Ferrari. I’m freelancing. That Writer-Speak for “Looks Good On Paper Only” with “Fucking Broke” understood to be the most accepted translation. Besides, it’s not like I came home smelling like another man’s cologne or something. That, my friends, would require what normal people tend to refer to as “Free Time”. I have been told this “Free Time” is something one can only find outside of The Internet and requires the separation, if only temporary, mind you, of self and laptop. Always interesting, this learning about the habits of the Non-Writer.
The other night, after a frantic nod to, um, Quality Time, (and a “Was That Good For You? Yes? Good!,” exchange as I bolted out of the room and into my email to reply to a revision request from my editor, I realized I’m married to a saint. I mean, I knew that before Oh Husband Whom I Know is Reading These Words, but sometimes, the little Aha! Moments tend to jump out and say You Have No Idea How Difficult You Are to Live With Sometimes and Why is Pinterest Giving His Penis a Complex?
Let’s discuss, shall we? Or would it be easier to just get a calendar and a Sharpie and circle the other days of the month indicating:
- Twitter parties
- That blog post I REALLY need to write about that thing that just went viral that I’ll go to my grave swearing a tiny part of me wasn’t convinced my brilliant response would go viral, too
- General stabbiness because ten different bloggers TOLD me I’m a much better writer than that two-bit hack that went viral only because she got lucky (after I asked them, of course)
- My fictional characters in that novel I’m writing just acted out the next scene inside my head I have to write RIGHT now or I lose it all
- The kid drove me nuts all day
- Live-tweeting Downton Abby
- I got in a phone fight with his mom
- I got in a phone fight with my mom
- We’re out of chocolate
- We’re out of wine
- We’re out of chocolate-flavored wine
- The hours I need to comb through blog archives in search of THE PERFECT PIECE of literary wit to submit to –
- A) Listen To Your Mother
- B) Blogher Voices of the Year
- That Facebook quiz I need to take to figure out what character I’m most like in Harry Potter, which leads me to the one about what kind of French cheese I am
- The dishes in the sink that aren’t gonna do themselves
- The fifteenth online book launch party this month for yet another friend I can’t let down
- The twitter argument I have to finish with this idiot who has no fucking clue who they’re messing with
- The planets are out of alignment
- Mercury is in retrograde …. Again
- File another invoice while secretly cursing the chick with the 300 Sandwiches and the book deal
- I’m busy buying 19 more URL’s for ideas I’ll never get to…just in case
- Frantic text conversations with the online friends I’ve yet to meet in person discussing Important Things like how many pairs of shoes to pack for that conference none of us have actually purchased tickets for yet
- My 1,000 word goal for the day is still 989 words short
- The NEED to Google my blog Alexa rank RIGHT NOW even though I still have no idea what it means
- Which, obviously, is to be followed up by checking my Klout score
- *Googling “Does Klout Matter to People who don’t think in 140?
- I haven’t yet taken 30 selfies from different angles, narrowed it down to the perfect one, and thought up a witty caption for that #365feministselfie thing and posted it EVERYWHERE before I even THINK of getting naked
- That important email I’m waiting for that will show up right now if I keep hitting refresh
- The conference call I’m waiting on in east coast time with everybody else in west coast time
- The kid drove me nuts all day & we’re out of chocolate-flavored wine
- The writing and scheduling of next week’s blog posts
- When I was frisky while he was at work and I was home alone and I took care of it myself already because I was being proactive and really should be congratulated for thinking ahead to free up my night to …
- Pick any of the above
Damn. Poor guy puts up with a lot, doesn’t he?
We writers are a special bunch. And the people who are nuts enough to love us deserve their own reality shows, I think. Because when we make it big? That’s when we make it up to them and they can proudly tell the world they knew marrying the crazy lady would totally pay off in the end.
Just let me finish up this chapter so I can write this blog post and hit Publish because dammit, this one’s gonna go viral.
I just know it.