I attended a three hour seminar today at work about time management; and, man, was it a much needed kick in the butt; I immediately came home and worked on the novel. I am going to dedicate fifteen minutes everyday for the next seven days to working on the novel, increasing my time each week until I get to an hour. I just finished the rough draft (I think rough is an understatement) of my statement of purpose for the MFA program I'm applying to, and I just wrote a brief synopsis of the themes I'd like to work into what I already have, so I feel like a productive adult who is actively working towards goals that will make my life better. It's really quite dumb how often I have to be reminded how much better I feel when I write; you'd think I'd never need to be reminded of something that's carved into the bones of me. Welcome to the wonderful, confusing world of me.