Hola

I'm supposed to be working right now. I don't want to. There's too much testing to do and not enough time to complete it. Yeah, so I was the one who said I could get it done in three weeks. Just shut up. And yeah, I also know that reading blogs and writing this post isn't helping me get closer to my deadline. Well, it's helping me get closer but not in a stress-reducing way. It's just that I'd rather be doing just about anything other than guessing how to configure data tables so that unknown call type calls get correctly charged local or long distance rates depending on their Exchange Access Area. Confused? So am I. See why I'm avoiding my work?

Have I mentioned lately that I hate my job? Have I told you how much? Have I ever hinted what I'd rather be doing?

Several years ago during a fit of extreme early onset midlife crisis, otherwise known to the Astrological community as Uranus opposite natal Sun, I did something I'd always threatened but never actually succeeded to do. I started writing fiction. The trouble is, the sort of fiction I started writing is not the sort of fiction I read. I read Booker Prize winners, Jane Austen, hand-me-down chick lit. I write (oh gawd, here it comes, cringe) romance. Crap!! What the crapping crapola is up with that? Still, what with pseudonymous writing being the norm in the Romance genre, what's wrong with selling some lavender-scented, lilac-toned prose and laughing my Work From Home arse all the way to the bank? It's FUN to write sex scenes! It just is.

So there you have it, Denters. At the moment I am torn between call type determinations and call girl delineations. And I'll leave it up to your fertile imaginations to conclude which distraction is winning.