It's not even a particularly "oh my God, the marmots are swarming" kind of day. Those days are so mind-numbing, I don't have to think, only do, so by the time I face plant into bed, I'm asleep before I can give in to the urge to scream.
Oh, yeah. You know what I'm talking about it.
But today, the marmots are not swarming, but nibbling. Part of it, okay, most of it, is my fault because I'm ... well, me. I need to write. I need follow up on promotional obligations. I need to make plans with friends. I need to do that counseling thing with my kid. I need to write. I need to read that pile of books ... oh, wait, that's not on the list at all. I want to read the pile of books by my bed. I need to do errands. I need to email 50 gabillion people. I need to write. Gotta do housework (Dear God, when was the last time I cleaned the bathrooms?). Oh, and the cat litter (My life has far too much poop variety in it. Cats. Dogs. Babies.). Cleaning out the closet (it's collapsing in on itself because everything I don't want to deal with has been migrating to one shelf, and now it's a terrifying mess that I have to unknot ... yay, me). Ugh. I can't look anywhere without seeing something needs to be done. Damn it. I have to take a shower, too. Maybe eat something (coffee isn't really a food group, even though I treat it like one). Maybe getting on Facebook to ask for spaghetti sauce recipes wasn't a priority, even though it feels like one because I want to cook for the Viking this weekend.
None of these things are hard. Well, maybe the closet thing, but I can handle it. It's the number of tasks needed, the knowledge I cannot do everything today (gah!), and the realization some of this crap will need to be done again. Hmmm. Gotta blog on the League once a month now. Frontline the dogs. Send my editor that new list of titles. Stress about money. Write. Bathe the dogs. Send my agent an update email. Stress about dishes and cat litter. Write.
I'm tired. I don't have time to take a shower. Do I? Maybe I should. I don't know. Let me debate about that for the next ten minutes and use up the actual time I could be showering. 'Cause that's the nibbled-to-death-by-marmots way, my friends. Oh. There's the buzz of the dryer. Shit. I forgot I was doing laundry.