Deadlines

He doesn't exactly look happy. He has that look, the look that makes my stomach twist and turn. I suppose I had better get on with my story. He says since my addiction to the computer is what got me in this mess that it should play a role in cleaning it up. This chair is very uncomfortable so I'll try and make this as quickly as possible… though when I am finished I am sure I'll wish I had taken longer.

There are certain things that are expected of me. Not so much rules as basic guidelines I know and should abide by. Probably the most stressed guideline is that my work is to come first. You see, I am a writer and I have deadlines. Deadlines, that's such an awful word. I have a tendency to put things off to the last minute. Greg never gets upset about this because I work best under that pressure. Occasionally though, the deadlines sneak up on me. If I don't make a deadline well… Greg isn't much surprised.

My article was due today. I was given a week's notice. Now I have 2-day grace period before my publisher gets angry, plenty of time to write an article, but Greg says that is ridiculous. Greg bought me a laptop for my last birthday so I could do my work anywhere in the house. But I have spent the last week playing on the Internet and reading stories. Now I am in trouble for not doing what was expected of me. Greg has told me to reword my last phrase as this is not intended to leave me with a sense of pride. Now, I am going to be punished for not keeping with a simple schedule and for abusing his generosity.

So I am sitting here in this awful, tiny, hard chair that Greg designed himself, telling all of cyberspace what is going to happen to me. I am wearing my baby blue bikini panties and the tank that matches them. Greg is sitting behind me as I type on my laptop while holding a brush that is sure to be used on my bottom later. Greg makes a comment on how I fast I can type one handed.

Practice Sir. Practice.