Life of a Travel Writer: when the travel writer dreams about taking a holiday

It's been a tough week. We're still completing the writing on one book project while we're researching others, as small assignments continue to come in, and other offers too good to refuse present themselves. It's hard to say no even though we're both completely exhausted. Terry appears to be getting the flu, I had an infected blister that saw one foot so swollen and inflamed I couldn't walk on it for a day, and I can't ever remember having been this tired before. We slept in until 9am today and yet I felt guilty even though we had an early start yesterday, worked all day, and were pounding the pavement until 10pm checking out bars last night for the book. We had a dinner reservation at 10.30pm but then even after our meal Terry continued to take photos for the book of the lively Navigli bar scene on the way home. We finally crashed around 2am and yet today I felt guilty for those seven hours of sleep. And it's been a hard week. We've been on the go all day every day from early until late with photo shoots and interviews at museums, theatres, shops and restaurants. In between Terry is walking the streets in the sticky 35+ Celsius heat (the humidity in Milano has been high this week so it seems even hotter than it is) and I'm researching, writing, and planning the next leg of the journey, to the Italian lakes and other parts of Northern Italy, and for two more research trips after that. And while our work is going to be taking us to some incredibly beautiful places, all I can think of is a holiday somewhere. Anywhere but there. Somewhere where there is nothing to do except lie on a beach and read books for a few weeks. And you thought travel writing was one great big holiday...