Time.  There isn’t any.  Or rather, there’s not enough.  I’ve been working retail for years, now, and while it’s a good job at an indie bookstore, it’s hella hard work and tiring.  And I’m a single mom, “unevenly yoked” (his ironic words) to an ex who doesn’t step it up and do his part.  So I’m worn out.  The middle of my life snuck up on me and now I have to fight for breathing room.  There’s time to rest, but not enough time to rest, get all my required BS done, and write/create as I’d like.  Imma get there, but damn – the work I still have to do on my in-progress novel is staggering.