Every morning, I get up at six. I get ready, pack last night's leftovers, and wait for the train and then the bus. While on this transport, I read. This would be the literature portion of the day. Once at work, I hustle into a grab-bag mix of writing, reading, editing, researching, and emailing. I get 45 minutes for lunch. I eat my lunch while working so I can spend at least a half hour of that break time working with my yarn. That blanket isn't going to make itself.
When I get off work, I wait for the bus, read, wait for the train, read, and then walk home. On a coordinated non-snowy or rainy day, I can read while walking too. Once home, I eat dinner and do my thirty minutes of exercise (desk-job weight gain? No thanks.) Then I sit at the computer for (ideally) at least an hour of revision time with the book. I'd been making good headway until all my latest story revisions disappeared. I got so upset that I haven't so much as opened a book-related doc file in five days.
Due to my odd need for an overabundance of hours in slumber, I have to go to bed at ten, which is usually when my best writing happens. And no, no matter how much I can no longer be a night owl, I will never become a Morning Person. What's so good about morning anyway?
Note that during no part of that day is there time to cook. Something's got to give and the kitchen tasks had to fall to my man's shoulders. I'm hoping that on the weekends I stay in Cleveland, I can still fit in some kitchen experimentation, along with several hours a day of book revision. Here's hoping.
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