I probably could have gone into work today on time, but instead, I thought, "Well, I have an interview at 1:00 (or 13:00 for you military clock people), and it's already 9:00 and it would be silly to go in for such a short time and ... /snooooooze." Then, after waking up about an hour later to walk Zola, I told myself that I was saving money on gas by not going into work. I was rationalizing, yes. Because I would still have to get Three to drive me into work, albeit later in the day, and I would still be taking the bus home. And I knew this as I was trying to pat myself on the back for my reasoning capabilities, so it was a little bizarre.
I also had to call up my 401k ... company? People? I don't know. But I had to talk to them today to see what is going to happen with my 401k, since I apparently can't just take it with me as I embark on self-employment. I have a couple of options, yay, and I'm still kind of unsure as to what I'm going to do. I have until 9/1/2012 to figure it out, so I'm going to procrastinate until then. I mean, I will thoughtfully consider my actions and then come to a decision about a week in advance.*
As you can probably tell, my brain is a little scattered. It's been working in overdrive for the past week or so, which means, yay, odd sleep schedules and forgetting to eat. I'm trying to get a short story of mine ready for the 9/30 Writers of the Future deadline, and it's like Sophie's choice, trying to figure out which story I want to send. And on top of that, the other aspects of the first arc of "The Legion" are falling into place, and I'm trying to get the Wordpress blog ready for launch, and ... ugh.
It's the excitement factor here. I am so incredibly ready and thrilled about this change that I'm turning into a giant ditz. I can barely focus long enough to sit and write this damned post, for God's sake.*** I nearly forgot to go pick up my husband from work last night, although luckily I got there about two minutes before he came out to meet me. Thank you, giant machine fuck-up for making me not look like a shitty wife. Every wire in my brain is just spazzy; I actually kind of feel like Zola, with the attention span of a fruit fly.
I guess the other part is that, guys, this is my dream. I may not succeed. I may not be interviewed by Terry Gross or have a booth at Comicon. But this is my fucking dream. And I can look back when I'm 87 and say that, yes, I tried. I put my heart and soul into something I truly love and didn't shy away from the possible failure. And that is something that I can handle being moderately insane for.
Now 9/1/2012 needs to hurry the fuck up and get its ass here.
* This is for my mom, who knows that this is not true but I wanted to put it in here, anyway. Like a disclaimer that's also a lie.
** I even got a domain name!
*** It's really been a hassle to edit this, too, because honestly? The first draft of this post? I sounded unhinged. And possibly like I was on speed or some type of steroid shot.
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