Or woman. God laughs at us women too.
Back in January (was it really only three short months ago?), my plan was to finish the novel I'd started in November, because for the first time in my life I am writing something I think I have a fair chance at selling. I'll repeat that, just in case you missed it. Selling. As in, for money.
Then the news came I'd have to move. All right – unsettling, but feasible. Not the end of the world. I still have my health and my job. The girls are fine. Okay.
I could see that I'd be uprooted but I that I could cling to some semblance of a word count and then get right back on track when it was over, and still have a shot at completing as much as possible by the end of year instead of end of September.... I could live with that.
Then yesterday hit. Redundancy notice.
It's never a good time for that but ooooooooh, I had other plans!
I am trying very hard to not panic. But I feel so demoralized. I like my job. I like my work-life balance. What will happen to my book if the balance changes? Obviously I won't write well if I don't earn enough to eat, but the writing is a form of sustenance too. And obviously my life has not just been swept away in a tsunami, but I hate that kind of argument, like you're supposed to feel guilty and be satisfied with your lot and shut up, just because your life isn't utterly ruined. I never said I wasn't grateful. It's just that I had....plans.