At Least My Friends Don’t Sit On My Face

Prioritizing is a pain in the ass.

There simply aren’t enough hours in the day to get everything done. Something’s going to get pushed back until tomorrow… which comes with its own to-do list.

Some things are easy to put first on the agenda. Obviously I’m not going to go into work naked because there just wasn’t enough time to get dressed after my shower—my office is COLD.

There are some things that, out of necessity, have to come before my writing. I have to make sure I eat—though this can be something as simple as a sandwich to nibble on as I edit— and that I get enough sleep. I’ve tried writing while completely sleep deprived and most of what was written had to be deleted the next day. While I might skimp on sleep occasionally, I know my body will insist on me playing catch up later in the week, so it’s not a good long-term solution. I need to shower or bathe frequently—because nothing is more off-putting than trying to write while I reek, well except maybe trying to write while the person sitting next to you does. Most importantly, I have to go into work… at least until writing starts to pay for itself.

There are also things that I enjoy doing, or things that I need to do no matter how much I loathe them, that get in the way. Household chores, reading books, watching movies and TV shows, hanging out with my friends, cuddling my cat… the list goes on, but that’s what occupies most of my free time.

Household chores are usually pushed off as possible, but I do share my living space with another person and I eventually start to feel guilty when my personal possessions have taken over the entire apartment because I’m too lazy to pick up after myself. Books are dangerous. They’re like Pringles, you can’t just have one. Every time I go into the library I end up walking out with an armload of books that I hadn’t intended on picking up. I already quite a few books that I own that I still have to read, but haven’t yet gotten around to because library books have due dates.

My friends usually understand when I tell them I can’t hang out, because I have something else going on, but then they try to schedule something for another night. Suddenly my nights and weekends are booked for the next two months and when am I supposed to write?

It could be something as simple as going out to dinner or catching a movie. It could be a party or a day out shopping. It could be getting coffee or hanging out watching TV.

I’m getting better at telling people no. It’s hard. Especially when the only thing I have planned for that day is reading a book or writing and editing.

There are some people to whom I can say, “No, I can’t… I have to get some writing done.” Those are the people who understand. The people who won’t try to guilt me into spending time with them.

There are other people who I have to lie to, to tell them I already made plans with someone. Because if I tell them I’m going to spend the day writing, they take it as an insult. They don’t get it. Kind of like my cat, except at least my friends don’t sit on my face when I ignore them.

Writing isn’t just something I love to do, it’s also a job. The problem is, I don’t have anybody enforcing deadlines, so everything else tends to get in the way.


At the age of six, Eliza was certain of two things. The first was that she had stories to tell. The second was that she had no talent for illustrating them herself. Talent or no, she still wrote and illustrated her first book, one that should be located and locked away if only to prevent her parents from embarrassing her terribly by showing it off alongside baby pictures. Now she spends her days writing stories that she isn't embarrassed to show off after a little bit of polishing.

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