I spend my days buried in a whodunit, not wanting to go out and wondering why I should.
When I'm not, I might be seen walking a hundred mall miles in search of nothing in particular and shamelessly trying on pairs and pairs of shoes.
Or I'm probably stuffing a grocery cart with ingredients for a Mexican-themed party, only to realize at check out that nothing was planned. Regrettably, I buy only a quarter of what I've taken off the shelves. I know, I know.
When I'm neither reading, cooking nor shopping, I'm probably furiously banging away on Stargazer's keys. A "Do not disturb nor feed the monster" sign virtually hangs on an invisible fence around me. I don't like having my train of thought broken when I'm wired in, so anyone who dares utter a word gets eaten alive.
My irregular working hours are spent researching, creating or editing content wherever I may find myself. In my daily struggle to commute between the bedroom upstairs and my dining table, I constantly try to deliver my deliverables because I believe in the importance of deadlines.
Each assignment is given utmost scrutiny, enough new tabs to make my screen look like it's got a virus, and imagined from several different angles to get the best feature out of it.