Help, I need a backhoe!

The problem with running off from the farm to join the circus is that while you're trying to be a clown, the cowshit is backing up and the chickens keep laying eggs in full nests.

In short, I'm buried.

B.U.R.I.E.D. Hence, this little conversation between me and my conscience. Fucking conscience. Needier than the damned dogs:

* * *

"Wait, Amy, when's that novel due?"

"The fifteenth of April-- did you hear the deadline fly by?"

"No!"

"Neither did I. I think it hit a wall-- I need to clean it up and finish the damned book."

"Wait, Amy-- don't you have an edit on your desk?"

"Which one?"

"I don't know, which one do you work on for ten hours on Wednesday?"

"That was Fish Out of Water-- that one got turned in. But I've got another one."

"Great-- short?"

"No. Part two of Rampant."

"Oh God, so, long then?"

*Amy rolls her eyes*  "Anyway-- I've got an edit on my desk."

"And..."

"And a date with my husband."

"And..."

"I just finished launching Selfie."

"And...?"

"A book due June first after the one that was due the fifteenth?"

"And...?"

"I still haven't done laundry from Vegas?"

"Amy!"

"I'm sorry! It's all delicates! When my brain is backed up I get boggled by delicates."

"Anything else?"

"Me and the kids need to do something fun tomorrow or they'll start telling people I'm not their real mother."

*pets*  "Well, you know, their real mother could probably cook."

"Shut up."

"It's true!"

*Amy grumbles*  "I bought them pizza bites!"

"Awesome."

"I'm a little busy, okay?"

"Yeah, if you're so busy, Amy Lane, why are you having a long conversation with your conscience on your blog, while more shit piles up in your e-mail?"

*sob* "I have no idea."

"Stop fucking around and get to work--remember, your exercise regimen starts on Monday!"

*weeps quietly*  "Yeah. Fine. I"ll write some more."

*conscience cracks whip*  "Yeah, you writers--you go out to a convention and think you can get away from us. Ha! Writers are at the mercy of their conscience. You, Amy Lane, are your super-ego's bitch."

"Oh Jesus, shut up. I'm writing until one, and then I'm going to bed."

"Well done. No sex while you're there--it's too much like fun!"

*Amy cackles evilly to herself*  "I'll call it research. Try and stop the sex NOW, you filthy conscience!"

*Conscience sighs*  "Yeah, yeah... so, sex is a gray area. Keep writing, wench. You got an hour more to go!"

So, uhm, excuse me, y'all-- as you can see, me and my conscience have some is-sues. If you need me, I'll be chained to my keyboard, begging to use the bathroom.

Ciou!