I am trying something new. I am preparing for the weekend. On Friday night I am cleaning the house and doing my homework.
Yes, they've already started to heap it on. I feel like a little pack-mule.
I am taking only four classes this semester, and I still do not have a part-time job. Over the holidays it became clear that if I am going to allow myself these luxurious circumstances, I had better put them to good use. Or I'll want to shoot myself.
I want to reclaim Saturdays, when Tim is at work and I have the house to myself. Last semester I usually spent the weekends doing homework and laundry. It was not fun.
Tom-Tom #8 is long, long overdue, I know. I have about a third of the material I need for a new issue. My primary motivation for devoting the weekend to what I like to call real work is the production of enough new, good writing to publish another magazine. And I am anxious to send off a batch of submissions to some of the daunting literary journals I so want to be included in.
I am aware that I have said similar things many times over the past year and a half. It seems it's time to have something to show for my resolutions: some letters besides the letters on my transcript.