I have recently bought a small unit which was built in the 70s not far from my work. I've got my computer set up in the area I have designated as 'dining room' since I currently have no table and have had to use my desk. I am not connected to the net in my unit and I've been doing my web-junk at work.
I've just been told that my table is ready to be picked up but, in opposition to this good news, my chairs won't be available until the end of October. Which is fine because I knew that they'd be around that long but I am getting heartily sick of eating in front of my computer.
I'm getting a new phone plug in the room designated as 'study' on Wednesday but it may be a drama because of the way things are laid out in the unit. Without becoming an electrician between now and then I'll just have to wait and see.
And I'm still not writing anything. I believe that I'm probably not the kind of writer that will end up with a solid cohesive book with intricately woven subplots and interesting characters. It's far more likely that I'm the kind of writer that will end up with half a billion tantalising tidbits of terrible tales.
But without actually writing anything, I'm never going to be either of them. I used to write almost continuously but, unfortunately, it seems that things change.
So, if I'm not a writer, who am I?
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