One of my coworkers asked if I planned to do anything fun this weekend.
I laughed. “No.”
I don’t think he expected that.
My idea of fun does not match what others think is fun. For example, my coworker shared he’s going to a concert this weekend. Standing in the hot sun and listening to live music that isn’t Queen would be a great way for Satan to torture me in hell.
My plans for the weekend:
Cleaning. I’ve decided I’m allergic to dust mites, which is why my whole body is breaking out right now. Dusting is as important as your mom always said, kids.
Finding new ways to get my dog to eat his food.
Converting notebooks to One Note. I have so many.
Writing. Once I’m done with my chores, I have a YA manuscript to rewrite.
I don’t share my M/M Romance dilemmas with my coworkers. The only one who deserves an answer to “Why do you write THAT?” is me. The only ones I’ve told are my very best friends, other writers, and the absolute strangers who read my blog.
Nope. I’m not doing anything my coworker would think is fun or exciting.