Work versus "the work"

I'm writing a book. It's funny - I'm almost 90,000 words into the thing and it still feels like hubris to say so. Like I should hedge my bets - "I'm trying to write a book" - in case I still somehow give up on the thing. But it feels like its got momentum now.

Anyhoo, things have gotten really busy at work. The crazy big boss is throwing tasks around like grenades while everyone else scrambles to keep their other projects on track despite the extra work. I'm going to have to work overtime just to get it done which cuts into the non-work time of my life.

And I resent that. I'm still working on my book anyway - but I'm tired a lot of the time, and irritated about the politics and conflicts of the office, and I worry that it will steal the sharpness out of my writing.

In some ways I wish I could quit and just do what I love. But I like having a home. A lot. And food is good too. And all the things that money provides. Maybe what I resent most of all is a world that makes these things incompatible.

Someday, I say. Someday.

How long can a myth keep you going?

Long enough to finish a book, anyway.