The State of the Mid-Term To-Do List

[rolanni]

1. Friday, meet with accountant after work; pick up car from shop

2. Saturday -- write or know the reason why I know the reason why

3. Sunday -- put together and email an InfoDump; Second Life podcast interview

4. Monday -- database wrangling and bookkeeping. Nope, instead, I practiced my presentation and doodled around with WordPress

5. Tuesday -- write? It could still happen Nah, it didn't happen

6. Wednesday -- take Hexampuma to specialist in Portland to have his ear evaluated
and very likely operated on. We're looking at significant snowfall for the first time in, what, a month? Tonight and into tomorrow morning. See kinzel's Journeyman for details and a wonderful picture of the Hexacat.

7. Thursday -- Sharon gives presentation as part of Moonlighting panel after end of
day-job day. Another faculty person has been added to the panel. At this point, I figure I'm comic relief -- and good job that my talk runs purposefully short.

7a. After talk, take car to shop. Again.

8. Friday -- fall on face.

9. Saturday and Sunday -- write, dammit

10. Monday -- take car back to shop, because it's still not fixed, after a series of increasingly expensive repairs, each of which was touted as The Cure. Somebody is doing the next fix for free, if I gotta go explain it to the Boss Himself.

Comments

Moonlighting?

[bookmobiler.livejournal.com]

Just wondering, which career do you consider the one you are moonlighting from? The professional writer or the secretary/administrative assistant?

Re: Moonlighting?

[rolanni.livejournal.com]

Well, that's the problem, sorta. The folks here accept the college as their community, and their work within the community of scholars and thinkers is of paramount importance.

I. . .daylight; the college is not my community; it's where I work. And I work there out of necessity, not desire. If I won a Big Lottery tomorrow, I would not continue to do secretarial work because I can't imagine not doing it.

But writing? Yeah, I'd keep on with that, Big Lottery or no, until they pry the keyboard out of my cold, dead fingers.