This morning was one of those mornings I wanted to be "just" a housewife and stay-at-home author so bad I could taste it. I had the strongest urge to stay home and to make sure the house was "perfect" for someone other than me, then to go about my business of writing. It was so realistic to me. I think I was vaguely dreaming, or maybe, daydreaming it. The big whiteboard in the library with my lists of ongoing novels, editing work, short stories in progress and reminders about contract work. I wanted it so bad this morning I could have cried. Instead, I got up and showered, knowing that I could not follow such a want on my own and that I did not have such a prospect in my near or even foreseeable future. In this day and age, where am I going to be able to find the ability to support myself as an author? Where am I going to find a mate who could support me in this and be indulgent enough to want to do so?