Is it just me or is life really busy? Like, REALLY busy? I can barely find enough time to sit down and write an SATS article let alone find time to do something article worthy. I’m a bit of a work-a-holic and creativity is my oxygen; therefore, work and writing are actually fun and fulfilling for me. I’m completely happy and thoroughly satisfied (in life not in the bedroom). But, if the stars aligned and “Mr. Right” came falling from the heavens, where the fuck would I find time to fuck him? How am I supposed to fit a boyfriend into the mix? Granted, this isn’t really a question I need to find a speedy answer to, as there are currently less than zero prospects knocking on my door.
It’s not troublesome right now, but what about in three, five, ten years? What about when I’m suddenly aware that my beautiful home is heaven only to myself… and 10 cats. What about when I realize drinking a glass of wine while I tackle a stack full of reports is far less fulfilling than sharing a glass of wine with a man? What about when I start coming to grips with the fact that writing about sex is a lot less sexy than having sex?
What am I going to do then?
Panic?
Nah…
… that’ll be right around the time when all the failed marriages of our generation are phasing into the divorced stage of life…
So I’m not too worried.
