because, in the midst of creating a 250 page document which reads something like this:
PDT is a procedure for sensitizing neoplastic tissues and their vasculature to visible light; if sufficient light dose can be delivered to photosensitized tissues, tumors can be eradicated in animal models…
I can take short breaks (which, if the time ever comes, I will defend as absolutely necessary to maintain my sanity) and come across Yeats and engaging arguments about chick lit and thoughts on illness and fellow writer’s angst and heartbreaking short stories and a thousand other fascinating topics (and if I didn’t link to you yet, I will another day, I promise) and realize I am actually in very good company. There is a whole group of people just like me, working day jobs and cleaning houses and raising children (well, I’m not doing that yet) and trying to squeeze enough time out of the day to begin the next chapter of books.
I am so, so glad I am a writer, and that I do so as much for my own pleasure as for anything else. I’m not sure what I would do if my identity was tied up in my job, in for decades it was assumed that lysosomal disruption would cause necrotic cell death… my boss left work utterly frustrated today with the way our institution is run, and she went home to watch home repair shows on television and work in her garden. Don’t get me wrong – I love some mindless television and right now I’m freaking out over two of my plants that are dying slow deaths on my front porch, but I’m glad that, at my core, going home means rejoining the characters in my short stories and my novels and that that feels so much more like real life than almost anything else.
On another note, it looks like one of the articles I wrote (for work) is getting some positive responses, which is nice. It might get picked up by some papers. If so, I’ll link to them because, well, why not?
Have a great weekend everybody…a longer post tomorrow.