My problem with essays

Is that I can’t really stop once I have started on them. Not even Zoe’s cries makes me want to stop, I have to stop by then, but I don’t want to. Does that define me as a workoholic, or just someone that loves to write? Perhaps both? I don’t know.

She woke me up at 5 am this morning, and didn’t go back to sleep until 9. Then she slept for four hours. I was surprised, as usual when she sleeps more than two consecutive hours during the day. So I made instant coffee (I know, ew, instant…), and I actually enjoyed it. I usually hate instant coffee. Several cups and just as many scientific articles later, I was still hyped on summarizing. So hyped, that I wished Zoe slept some more so I could work. I make every second count.

We got the keys to the new apartment last Friday. It entirely slipped my mind to share this. Now, instead of on a piece of tape, my name is actually on the door. Yay. The Dutchman will have his hands full in painting the walls the way we like them. Then we’ll officially move in. Anyway, I’m going back to my best friend the essay now. Cheers, everyone! I’ll try upload some pictures later this week. No promises though, since my mind has been at the planet of supermoms. What is a supermom, really? And why do I want to be one so bad? Can I blame society, or do I blame myself for being a workoholic?

You and me, essay!

You and me, essay!

//c_Cae; write, write, write! 


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