I’ve been doing a lot of baking recently. And while I don’t intend it to be a form of self-torture, it really kind of is, because I’m on my first serious diet in… well, ever. So I’m baking, but not eating. And I’ll pull a couple of loaves of bread out of the oven and think, “Okay, now I’m done for a while.” But then a few hours later I’ll find myself staring at a new recipe and thinking, “Well… I could just go ahead and whip this one up, too, and throw it in the freezer! For later! For when I don’t have time to bake!”

The thing is, I don’t have time to bake now. Because I’m working on something, and I should be working, not baking.

Here’s something I believe without reservation: There is no such thing as writer’s block. I don’t believe that it exists. I have never not been able to write; often what I write is complete crap, but I write it. I push through. Later I go back and weed through the crap and make it into something better. But it’s not like I can’t write. On the other hand… after I reach a certain number of words that make me want to stab myself in the eyes repeatedly, I know it’s time to start baking.
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All publicity is good publicity. All publicity is good publicity. All publicity is good publicity. If I keep saying it, maybe eventually I’ll believe it. Right? All publicity is good publicity….

A few weeks ago, I did a small segment with a local radio station, and was pleased with the results. I felt the piece represented me well, and it brought me some extra traffic, and no one I knew in real life heard the interview. Heh. (That may not seem like a perk, but to me it totally was.)

Shortly after the radio thing, I was then contacted by our local NBC affiliate to ask if I’d mind being interviewed for the news. This happened on a day when I had a sick kid at home and a million things going on, and I really wanted to say no… but I knew it was an opportunity, so I said yes.
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Wow. Y’all are very, very kind. When writing mylast post, I full expected folks to sympathize a bit, maybe, but agree that I’d been careless. The way everyone rushed to assure me that I was being too hard on myself warmed the cockles of my heart.

Even though I still disagree with you.

See, I happen to think it’s impossible to both rectify a mistake and guard against committing it again unless you’re able to take responsibility for your part in things. And while it’s very clear to me that the other party in this arrangement failed to fulfill her obligation, I maintain what I said at the beginning of this: I erred in assuming I could trust someone with whom I didn’t already have a tested business relationship.
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My glass is often not only half-empty, my tea is growing tepid, dammit. Which is to say, I am sometimes not all that good at finding the bright side of things. But today let’s pretend I’m madly spinning this into one of those “learning opportunities” I hear so much about. Yes! It’s a good thing that I was a moron, because you’re about to learn from my stupid mistake.

Sigh.

As I would encourage any freelancer to do, my work at this point is spread amongst nearly a dozen different projects. Failure at one is hardly a catastrophe; there are other contracts, different work, etc. Amongst this field of commitments, though, are the two websites I own, myself. And those sites are my bread and butter; aside from the income they generate, they bear my name and are, arguably, a huge part of my brand.

And—plain and simple—I screwed up.
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So, the other day I was (once again) complaining about how my desk runneth over and I’m always working in the evenings because of all the busy-work that needs to be done but seems to take over my days, somehow—emails, going through and sorting mail, mailing other stuff out, doing research for projects—and my husband listened to me rant and nodded and murmured and finally put his hands over mine and said, “Listen. It’s time you hired someone to help you out for a few hours a week so that we can stop having this conversation all the time.”

And I burst into hysterical laughter because I’m a solopreneur! I work alone! No one can do what I do! And—hey, could I really do that? Have someone come help me? How would that work? Would I need to get dressed?
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I don’t know if you’ve noticed this or not, but I’ve been a little whiny, lately.

(Just a little. Okay, a lot. But, um, you forgive me, because you’re nice that way.)

I mean, nothing’s wrong, and even the small annoyances are just that—small—but I haven’t exactly been an endless well of contentment and gratitude all the time. And it can become very, very easy, when you have a home office, to retreat further and further into your own head. Sure, I’m out and about with the kids after school, but my career and days are mostly solitary. Which can often result in an overblown sense of my own importance. Heh.
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Freelancing deja vu: The feeling that you have mismanaged your multiple contracts in exactly this way, before.

Ugh.

Um, hi! Do you remember how once I wrote this pretty great post (if I do say so myself) about how at a certain point, one really has to sit down and be realistic about how much work you can reasonably handle? Remember that? And remember how I was becoming overwhelmed and was piously vowing to do better and choose wisely and not put myself into a situation where I was burning myself out simply because I lacked the foresight to make a sensible decision, already?

Yeah. That was a really good idea.
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I’ve been away on vacation (thought working a bit while we were gone), and the break really did me good. I needed to relax and take my mind off of work for a few days.

While I was away, a piece I did for Redbook went live both in the just-released August issue and online, and so over the last few days I’ve once again experienced an influx of readers who are reaching out to me to ask for guidance on how they, too, can make a living blogging. Fortunately, my last experience with this has more or less prepared me to handle it, but I’m always a little surprised by it, nonetheless. For the most part, though, people who approach me are well-meaning and kind and sincere, and I don’t mind taking some time out of my day to talk with those sorts of folks if I can share some useful information.

No, that’s not my problem. My problem is that even when I get email from morons, I can’t resist responding.
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I would love to tell you a different version of this story. I would love to tell you that on Saturday night when I was greeted by this infamous icon to the side, there, and the subsequent discovery that my computer had magically transformed from the nerve center of my business into a very expensive paperweight, that I simply got a new hard drive, retrieved my meticulously backed-up files, and went on with my life.

But I cannot tell you that, because I hadn’t backed up my files. Not once. Not a single thing. Because I had an invincible MacBook, and nothing would ever go wrong with it! Because it’s a Mac! And… ummm… Macful!

P.S. Sometimes Macs die, too.

P.P.S. I am a moron.
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Well, I’ve been home for over a week and everything is back to normal.

Haaaaaaaaaahahahahahahaaaa! I crack myself up.

Here’s the thing: No matter how much I prepare for a trip, no matter how much work I do when I’m away, no matter how diligently I work to catch up once I’m home again, no matter what I do to try to make re-entry as painless as possible, I am a creature of routine. Having that routine disrupted can take me a while to recover. And I know it’s stupid, and I know I should be more flexible or organized or something, but at one week back I still feel like I’ve barely returned.
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