Day Eighteen: Put On Your War Paint.

So I may or may not have been listening to Fall Out Boy's "Youngblood" for most of the afternoon and late evening.

That established.

Today was all about getting random things done. I worked on everything from laundry to wedding planning to book buying for residency to haggling at Half Price Books. We sort of hit the ground running today.

I've yet to write on the book.

That's right. I got two readings done, I did two loads of laundry and conquered the washing machine, I watched Game of Thrones and convinced my dad that getting my resignation letters back in the mail from my uppers isn't the end of my world nor my career while simultaneously plotting his surprise party for Father's Day next Sunday. I wrote on my Facebook:

"did i say i didn't have a full-time job anymore? because i think i'm settling into my role as Europe Travel Agent/Student/Wedding Coordinator/Housekeeper/Writer/Automotive Mechanic and it's definitely more than 40 hours a week."

But no writing on the book. I hope I have time to do that tonight, but as you can see from the picture to my left, I have my partner's work clothes to iron before I go to bed, then we're going to do a dramatic reading of Martin McDonagh's In Bruges from the screenplay I scrounged out of my room at my parent's house (I'm doing a presentation in Ireland on McDonagh, so yes the madness is for a reason). And I can't even stay up late, because I have my first PT tomorrow at 7:45.

Also, if you look down in the corner of that picture, you can clearly see a sticker from one of Nancy Holder's workshops. Hint: it's a rocket ship.

But even if I just write a paragraph, I'm going to count it as a win.

I am looking forward to meeting with my mentor this week and coming up with a plan of goals for this upcoming year. I have a chance that people kill for, and I can't squander it. I have taken to my twitter a little more, so that's going to be helpful. And once I have a plan, I won't just be sitting in my writing room and typing by myself on my manuscript. That's what writing is, of course, but there's also a whole social media thing and a whole ... you know ... conferences and submitting and all of the other things that come with it.

Someday I'm going to look back on this blog and find myself very stupid.

The ironing board has rudely elbowed its way into my writing room. Bad form, ironing board. Bad form.