Oh dear. Oh my. What happened to the time?

Ficly, I’ve abandoned you, but not because I wanted to.

Apparently, one needs money to live. Unfortunately, one needs to WORK to get it. Nice work would be nice. Oh to be paid to write! (wondrousjoyousfrabjousday) Instead… ugh. My poor feet! In what paradise do writers and wages meet? Take me there!

Here on Earth, however, it seems writers and wages meet only when one of them is brutally sacrificed! GORE. So if you need wages to live then a job is required, and standing for 8 HOURS on poor swollen feet, pretending to be sweet, is put up with – it is necessary after all, for life.

But words! I have abandoned you, and you are necessary to breathe. How do I find the time for you, how do we dance like we used to do…

…when my poor feet HURT?