Generally speaking, I like my job. It's good, honest work. You can't get any less crooked than a laborer. We lift and carry. Yeah, it's more complicated than that, but I get paid for doing physical labor. And I appreciate the fact that I have a safe, reliable job with the Federal government. I have basic health benefits for myself and my wife. I know that my paycheck is going to be there next month and the month after and as long as I want to keep the job.
That said, the work has been grueling lately. I'm 53 years old now and lugging all of that paper and parcels when it's 100 degrees out and the dew point is 70...well, that's about as miserable as it gets.
This has been going on all summer long and I'm worn down. What makes it worse is that I'm also working hard to complete my next novel for Tor Books. I'm well over 3/4 of the way to writing "The End" on that project, but I'm pushing hard to get there.
It hasn't been easy. In effect, I have two full-time jobs that I try to cram into each day and it's long past undue pressure. But it has all been a great experience. This is something that I've actually dreamed about for twenty-five years--a major publisher paying me to write a novel. It's the completion of one part of my long struggle to earn decent money from creating works of fiction.
I just wish I could write full time. If I hit that point I will be one totally happy human being. You won't be able to pull me down from the ceiling if I can reach that particular brass ring.
Now it's off to the laptop again. Got to create some more fantasy.
Life is hard, but it could be a lot worse.