If I've seemed, well, exhausted, it's because when I initially wished that Sleep Is for the Weak would get published, I forgot to wish that we'd be landed gentry and I wouldn't have to hold down a job at the same time.
Then when I wished they would let me work four days a week, I forgot to wish I wouldn't spend the hard-fought day off in airports instead of writing the next book and doing my Savvy Source, Cool Mom Picks and BlogHer writing.
It might sound as though I'm complaining -- why, yes, yes it does. Perhaps I am. But really, the only thing I feel complain-y about right now is being too engaged in my very full life. And that's really not anything to complain about.
I might spend time complaining on the amount of work left to be done on Chateau Travolta before my in-laws come for Thanksgiving, but no, complaining about a house that we bought with a 0% loan when we owned another house at the same time in this economy seems ludicrous.
I might also complain about my corporate job, but considering how understanding they have been about the book and the time off for the book tour and the time off for the writing, yep, that'd be shitty, too.
I could maybe complain about all the traveling and how exhausting it is, but to complain that I was able to squeeze six plane tickets out of a teeny advance and how I've been able to spend time with awesome people who I so admire -- THAT would definitely be shitty.
So it's not so much that I'm complaining about all these good things. It's just that I forgot to wish they would not all happen at the same time, because I am but one person with over 500 e-mails a day between work and the book stuff. I also love my husband and daughter very much and am attempting to pay some attention to them. And I also love my freelance blogging so much that I wrote for three hours in the airport and two hours last night to cover the next two weeks of posts and literally stumbled on the way to bed because my eyes were so itchy and horrible from staring at the screen without blinking.
But I want to keep writing for those sites. I love writing for them. I love writing here. I know this blog isn't as popular as those of my contributors, but I love this blog, and I love my readers, who often don't comment but come back fairly consistently. I don't care that you don't comment, because what I say often doesn't present itself as needing a reply. I'm kind of like that. I just say stuff and leave it hanging there like a cartoon bubble as I walk away. It's just me.
I do need to figure out what the hell I'm doing with my life after this book tour is done, though. Do I want to be a super-popular blogger? Do I want to focus on this new book idea I really want to do? Will the market support another anthology? Do I want to try to freelance for print again? Do I want to write for more blogs? What am I doing, exactly?
I'll be contemplating all these things again for about six hours of airports to San Francisco and like twelve hours of airports on the way back. I will return at 11:15 on Sunday night if all goes well. And then I will try to drag myself to work on Monday morning. And I will try very hard not to complain, because even though this is exhausting, it is what I wished for. It is so precisely what I wished for.