I think my subconscious has weaponised my imagination and I’m choosing to take this as A Sign.

For the last few years I’ve had a full time desk job. I’ve had weekends off, statutory holiday allowances and the never-gets-old joy that someone else was paying my monthly wage. Then I found a better desk job, handed in my notice, looked forward to a month of garden leave and…

The better desk job fell through.

Gutted.

The upgrade was supposed to fill the financial gap that I was plugging with freelancing so I could take that time to write for me. The dangling threads of half-formed stories and ethereal flights of fantasy had been left to their own devices as, frankly, they seemed like self indulgence when my time could be spent earning a per-word.

I know that there are people who write in every spare moment. People who feel discombobulated if they don’t get their words on a page. People who have The Urge so deeply embedded in their very being that they struggle to function without that outlet.

Me? My primary Urge is always More Sleep. And the threads and flights got on so well together, hanging around in the back of my brain, that I could easily ignore them. (I’m assuming there was an open bar).

Anyway, the job fell through.

I started having vivid, kaleidoscopic, fantastical dreams.

There was an advert for part time barista shifts.

The half-formed threads began knitting together.

A potential freelance project had a six month timescale.

The flights of fantasy solidified enough to have sharp pokey bits that prodded me at the most inopportune of moments.

Now, I know that there are people who let the story lead them forward. People who thrive in the process of following their characters along unknown paths. People who can motivate with a self-imposed deadline and find fulfilment in the process itself.

But me? I’m a procrastinator extraordinaire with a minor in napping; if I don’t block it out and publicly declare some sort of cut-off I’ll achieve nothing other than a well-rested countenance.

So I’ve given myself until the start of May to blunt the edges. If I haven’t made substantial inroads by that point then I’ll shove the threads and flights behind me and find another desk. And I’m so out of practise that writing this has knackered me out.

I think a snooze is in order.

See you tomorrow…