I’ve been on the edge. I feel like screaming at people every step of the way: anxiety, annoyance, general restlessness. I don’t like it a little bit.

It could be work-related, or it could be the “I want it all and I want it now” attitude, or it could be hormones. Oh, life is a joy for a 40-year-old woman.

In the meantime, I write—20,000 words and counting. My mind bubbles with new ideas, genius ideas, I might add. The rhythm is good; honestly, I would easily trade my day job for a few months of writing full-time. If nothing else, I would not speak with people all day so they could not ask absurd questions. My patience towards people is at the bare minimum.

I may need a sabbatical after all. Or I could win the lottery so I don’t have to worry about money and can just do what I want.

Depending on money is so inconvenient.

It’s an inconvenience that I cannot escape for the time being, so I might adopt silence. I would need to practice, but silence towards people would work. If I don’t engage, then they should not bother me more than what is strictly necessary.

It sounds like a solid theory, but keeping my mouth shut would be the feat of my lifetime.