I want to visit other writer’s houses. I want to see if they have houses as dirty and cluttered as mine.
If they do, then I’ll feel justified and smug. But if their houses are clean, the laundry is done, floors swept and meals prepared – then I want to know that secret.
Because if I’m writing, it means none of that other stuff is getting done at my house. Lately, I’ve been writing a lot and as you can imagine, the house has suffered.
Youngest is the only child I have at home most of the time anymore, so I’m still responsible for someone other than myself. But he now knows how to wash his own clothes as of last night’s tutorial.
It’s a dreary day so far here today. Wait a minute – now the sun is peeking out – I take that back.
This morning we had yummy home-made waffles for breakfast. I’m out of the maple syrup I bought from roadside stand in New York last year. I would have bought a whole gallon had I known how much I’d like it. Now I wish I hadn’t given any of it away as gifts to family.
Mental note to self – learn to be more stingy.
I’m writing off and on all day today. The document is always open and whenever a thought strikes me, I will drop whatever I’m doing, run inside and put it down.
Otherwise, I can’t seem to let myself do anything away from the keyboard. It’s a sort of psychological compromise. Muse lets me go outside, if I promise to run in on a whim. It’s working out alright so far.