So, I write. In my free time, in my not so free time. I'm a writer. I love nothing more (except my sweetheart) than having an idea, and a reason to write. When I get myself a decent writing partner, I can write for days and days and days.
When everybody around me sucks (and I only judge because I'm an elitist douche, and I know that I'm not as good as most of the writers I've had the good fortune to write with), I'm miserable. Or when everybody around me has a life that interrupts their writing, that's even worse.
Why the hell should other people's lives not revolve around me? Just because I work Friday through Monday, and I wind up with three days off during the week, and at least 24 (cumulative) hours in which to write through my work week, doesn't mean anybody else should think that their so-called "life" is more important than writing with me. Oh, no.
Obviously I'm the center of the writing universe. All others are simply fodder for my NEED to write shiny things.
And that is why I'm a sadface when I have nothing to write. Like now. *sadface* :(