Plan B

I should be working right now, and I will be working again in just a few minutes. But I have too much stuff to write, for both my paid job and my several and sundry volunteer jobs, and the obvious solution to this dilemma is to stop writing so that I can write about how much I still have to write. 

This is what happens when you gain a reputation as a competent writer. You end up with every writing task, small or large, that needs doing. I guess that this is what it means to be hoist with one’s own petard. Well, not exactly, because writing is not (usually) an explosive device and even if it was, I wouldn’t be trying to blow anyone up, but you get what I’m trying to say. I’m captive to my own brilliance. I’m a victim of my own success. 

OK, that’s enough of this foolishness. I’m going to stop complaining about work, and get back to work, so that I can finish work, so that I’ll have time to do more work. 

OR I could just publish this, because as soon as anyone reads it, they’ll realize that I’m not that sharp a writer after all. Plan B. A person always needs a Plan B.