When I was in the 9-to-5 world, I always anxiously awaited my tax refunds. Sure, I'd be a good girl and pay down my credit card or other outstanding debt, but there was enough left over for a nice trip somewhere, or I'd be able to go antiquing for some new piece of furniture, or have a decadent spa weekend. I had something to look forward to every April.
Now, even though I get to do what I love every day, the tax refunds are considerably smaller. I just got back the last of them, from the state, and it barely made a ripple in my bank account. I was able to pay for my chapter conference, but still can't get myself to Atlanta in July for the big national one. And I'm debating between new rugs for the kitchen or a replacement side-view mirror for my Jeep. No trips to Australia or a new recliner. Sigh.
At times like these, I take stock of my life and realize others would kill for the opportunities I have. I can sit at home four or five days a week, and pound out my next story, without the interference of a job, a time clock, or a boss. I'm the boss. That sounds real nice. But being the boss also means responsibilities. I can't give myself too many days away from the keyboard or my social media contacts and still expect to sell books. So, the trip down under will wait another year, and I'll make do with the old recliner. My heroine is calling me to finish her story and give her the happy ending she so deserves.