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Talking to myself

Since I had to give up the day job because of a ruptured spinal disk, I’ve become a lot like a hermit. Well as much as a hermit as a mother of a two year can be I guess. I have my life lines. I meet a friend of mine once a week and I take my son to monster, sorry baby groups. Adult conversation is a little thin on the ground. The other half works and when I do see him, I’m usually using my evenings to write.

I’ve managed to seccure a couple of freelance jobs, but I’m still so insolated. I think full time writers need a support group, especially if you use a pen name, let’s call it writers anon. Part of me doesn’t mind, I use my time wisely but in essence I’m just having conversations with myself.

It’s probably why I’ve had this weird feeling of deja vu for the last day and a half. My life has become routine. I get up with my son, we do stuff together until bedtime and then I crack open the netbook and write. I don’t know if that makes me terribly boring or a dedicated mother and writer. What do you think?

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