Why is it, dear (and incredibly frustrating) self, that the spirit of dilly-dallying possesses you at the most inopportune and inconvenient moments?
Yes, exactly like this minute that you are about to enter into 55 seconds from now.
Write, damn it! Write for money! The 20-plus articles you have to submit by the end of the month won't write themselves on their own. The all powerful and knowing Internet will not cough them up and unto your desktop screen, so stop meandering from one web page to another!
Aggh. (I would add another g if it made my seething more apparent.)
Wait, hold on. What's this? There's a rogue idea that bumps into the conscious corner of your mind: What if writing for money ruins the experience for you? You've heard people say (and bloggers write) that "Do what you love and you won't have work a day in your life". But what if you stop loving what you love to do because your dysfunctional brain associates it with "work"? What if what you hold sacred loses this quality when it gets tied in with "money"?
Ah, my brain. What will I do with you?
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