It’s 5:45 am on a Saturday. I’m working in my pajamas. Being self-employed means that you never get to go home from work. It’s always there, waiting for you to come to it. You better enjoy what you are doing because you’ll find yourself doing it at 5:45 am on a Saturday in your pajamas when the rest of the city is blissfully asleep on their “day off.”

I spent 45 minutes last night buffing my fingernails to a shine before I realized that I was tired and I should probably go to bed. Without a task master to answer to in the morning, there is no reason to get to bed early. I could sleep in every day, but here I am at 5:45 am, writing. There is no one cracking a whip, except the dominatrix in my head who knows how many entries I wrote yesterday and has deemed them woefully inadequate.