It just now is hitting me that no matter how much stuff I do every day, there is always more stuff to do. I keep waiting for the day when there won't be any more stuff, when I can relax and do nothing, but the nasty thing just has this propensity to multiply like some kind of an alien virus, slowly and completely, enveloping me in this goo of "You better do it all, or else." Damn it.  

I'm supposed to be taking three weeks off between drafts. Ha! You think I did that? Ha! Ha! Ha! I need to laugh here really loud. I took one day off, only one, maybe a couple, and that only when forced by other people to slam my laptop shut and shove it under the pillow and get my ass out of the house. The rest of time...imagine. I WORKED. Meaning, again the same routine when writing: no breaking for weekends, no nothing. And of course I had this huge to-do list that I kept for "later," for when I'm done with the current draft. And now, as I cross off one finished task, I add two more.