Is there ever time for me to have a life? Will I ever have enough peace where I can regularly come home in the afternoon and not be so tired I can't do anything? I can't work on My Great American Novel. I can't even see strait when I get home. I certainly can't find time to mow the lawn. Yet, I was just talking to several people today about being married, and decided I wasn't nearly ready for that (I mean, really how would I find time for it?!), but it would be nice to have someone to cuddle when I got home for the five minutes before I fell asleep.