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The new bane of my existence is working on my book proposal. If only my work life was dull and slow-paced and totally unsatisfying, I could easily find the time during nights, weekends and the occasional holiday to crank it out. Alas, I have been cursed with a job that keeps me delighted and busy pretty much all the time. I know; it’s really rough to be me.

It would probably help if I was actually excited about writing the thing, which I’m not. Or if there was some guarantee I’d end up getting paid as a result of writing it – which there super isn’t. So while I really want to get the thing done, every single day I wake up, and there is a list of things to do that are more pressing. Some of these things, I’m pleased to say, pay me money, which allows me to eat, reside in a permanent structure safe from the elements, and occasionally attend Pilates. Others are just fun stuff, like say, planning a kick ass wedding.

So what’s a girl to do? Every day is the same. There’s just no time. I’m proving to myself time and time again that I am not making this happen. However, finishing a book is possibly my proudest vocational achievement, and it really means nothing unless I finish the proposal. So guess what I’m going to do?

In a moment of exasperation a couple of week ago, I said to Mike, “If only it was possible for me to hole myself up somewhere secluded for a few days and just concentrate on finishing the proposal. I bet I could finish it in less than a week.”

Because he is the brains of our operation, he asked why I couldn’t just do exactly that at my dad’s cabin in Indian River.

But…who would tend to my to-do list?

Didn’t I sort of set my own schedule, he asked? Couldn’t I just make room in my life to make that happen?

I can. And I’m going to. In a couple of weeks, I’m going to finish up my end-of-the-week work early and push my beginning-of-the-week work off a few days and spend a Saturday through Tuesday finishing my book proposal. It only took about 45 seconds of serious thought to realize this totally free and possible solution to the bane of my existence could work. How about that? All that really remains to be determined is if I should take one, two or zero dogs with me. If you have an opinion on that, I’m all ears. (I’m afraid of being lonely and maybe scared at night on one hand, but I’m afraid of being distracted on the other. Discuss.)

What do you think? Will they protect me if something goes bump in the night during my writer's retreat? Or just stare at me the whole time begging for cookies?

Every once in awhile, if you’re lucky, you have a moment when you realize that you have forgotten just how great life is. Maybe something about being self-employed threatens to give me an ulcer once a week, or maybe I’m starting to have walk-down-the-aisle-with-no-makeup-on dreams, but I’m going on a one-person writers retreat to finishing writing something incredibly important to me. Oprah calls these “ah-ha moments.” She probably has one every day when her servants awake her with songbirds trained in three part harmony. I’m good with this more humble “ah-ha moment” of my own. Birds kind of freak me out.

I should probably take the dogs with me, right?

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