Last week, I had all these grand plans.
Finish all my editing clients’ first rounds: Done
Write All The Words: Kinda . . . .
Review All The Shows: HA!
Schedule book promo posts: Halfway there. I think.
Needless to say, my lofty goals were not met on some of the to-do list items from last week. Looking at what I’d written, it honestly wasn’t beyond my capabilities to tackle everything with a little breathing room—maybe even reward myself a nap on the couch with Limos or stroll outside.
Nope. My wisdom tooth had other plans.
I must have the world’s slowest wisdom teeth. It’s taken until now for this one to break through and now the little motherfucker is joyfully rearranging my lower jaw. If that pain wasn’t chipper enough, the headache that paired with it after the first day is surely something to marvel. There came a point on Thursday where I looked at the to-do list, rubbed my poor jaw, and shoved everything onto this week’s list.
I never do that. Never call it quits on a work week because of pain. This isn’t normal pain, though. It’s pain sent straight from Lucifer.
Must’ve made one too many pink thong jokes at his expense.
The pain is still hanging in there. I’m not. Seeing as my personal convention season begins in ten (holy shit, really???) days, something’s gotta give.
Pulling up my Big Girl Panties. It’s time to continue my global takeover. But, please, no iced drinks at my victory party.