A day in the life of a writer

Writing is easy peasy until you start to call yourself a writer, then it’s the most soul crushing, life sapping, mind bamboozling activity in the universe. Sure, there are warm, spurty feelings to be enjoyed after you finish a story, but mostly, it’s crap. Today, we take you into the comically sad but smug life of your average writer.

3.00am: I’m ejected from dreamland by Rihanna howling about love and hopeless places. I hate that song. I hit snooze.

3.10am: Ugggh. I don’t think I’m very talented at waking up. I hit snooze five more times

4.00am: I throw my phone under the bed so I can go back to sleep unmolested by that woman’s whining.

8.30am: I get up. Sure I’m late, but I’m not going to panic. I’m a ‘creative’, which my employers take to mean unstable, eccentric, lazy and brilliant. To get fired, I’d have to do some really scandalous stuff. Getting to work one hour late is nothing.

9.40am: I saunter into office and head straight for the kitchen. Coffee must be had. Peter’s fruits must be sampled. That guy eats too healthy anyway. Any healthier and he might start sweating fruit juice and shitting fruit salad. So really I’m doing the guy a favor

9.45am: My ears alert me of heavy breathing and snorting right outside the kitchen door. I hear somebody gurgling phlegm. It’s the boss and I think he’s smelt me in the building. Quickly, I arrange my face to resemble that of a sick bunny, slump my shoulders and splash tap water around my nose

9.46am: “Why you disgusting puddle of nothing. You unproductive sow! You heifer of unproductivity. You…you…why are you late?!”

9.47am: I say nothing. We’re both aware of the dynamic here. If he fires me, I’ll be broke for a while, sure, but he’ll have lost me. Where will he ever find such cheap cleverness again? So I saunter over to my desk and open multiple youtube videos.

9.49am: I creep back to the kitchen, fill my basin of a mug with coffee and proceed to wake up.

10.00am: Angst

11:00am: Disorder

12.00pm: Pain, suffering. A brief but violent episode of sobbing under the desk. I consider throwing myself down the three stairs that lead to the parking lot. I disregard this dumb thought. Why is writing so hahaharrrd? Waillll.


12.30pm: I walk out. You’d say for lunch. I say in protest.

2.30pm: I return yelling “I can do this! I can do this!” and then recite a couple of positive affirmations

3.00pm: I read dampsquid.wordpress.com for inspiration and inform everybody on facebook and twitter how happy dampsquid is making me.

3.10pm: “Why have I not received any work from you yet? Do you think you’re here to play? This is not your father’s farm!”, yells the boss.

3.12pm: I write some brilliant stuff

3.14pm: I send this brilliant stuff.

3.15pm: I leave office. I’m done with my work, aren’t I?

4.00pm: I play video games/ read books/ drink stuff.

5.00pm: I sleep.

And then I do it again.

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