Dragonfly
Sundays are my get-down-to-business-and-write-already days. No excuses. Usually. I woke up early this morning - very unusual for me. It should have been my first clue that something wasn't quite right. To simply say I'm not a morning person is rather like saying a nuclear bomb doesn't do that much damage. Everything about my mornings requires time and questions. Time to open my eyes. Time to consider all the reasons I should push back the covers. Could going to the bathroom wait five more minutes? Couldn't I just stay put a little longer where it's warm and cozy and no one is asking me what's for breakfast? But, no. The word Gods were smiling down on me today as the sun came up and I somehow emerged from my coma well rested and almost ready to go. I should have looked beneath the dust ruffle to see if a pod was there, all viscous and gooey, but since I was in the full throes of coffee cravings, I figured it was all good.

It remained good until I sat down at my desk. Coffee? Mmmm. Check. Computers on? Check. First mistake made? Check. Check. Check.

I have two computers side by side on the same desk. On the left is my laptop - work (day job) and work (writing). Only. No games. No Internet - unless I'm researching soemthing for my WIP. On the right is the desktop. Par-tay Central. LAUNCHcast Music. Yahoo Messenger. Internet thrumming in the background, waiting for the websites to start flying by like torn bits of wrapping paper on Christmas morning. Blogs unread. News unseen. Emails waiting patiently in little categorized folders. DISTRACTIONS.

Two hours later - I opened my WIP file and started working. I wrote two crap-ass paragraphs before the phone rang. Mr. Clean (the husband) stood a safe distance while mouthing who was on the phone. He knows the drill. No interruptions, even if it appears that I'm doing nothing more than counting dots of ceiling texture. I took the call - not out of obligation but it was family and someone I wanted to talk to. Short chat. Time to get back to work. Except, the phone rang again moments later. My best friend, Wahoo, needed directional assistance and, of course, everyone knows that I sit playing on my computer all day long. Right? Admittedly, had she just been calling to chat, she'd have happily hung up the phone but being lost somewhere in another State sort of constitutes an actual Need and since she was calling me - the seriously directionally challenged - it had to be BAD. I rose to the challenge and tried MapQuest, failing miserably. Then, I got to dig through her email to find the actual address so MapQuest could spit something discernable back at me. Location solved - but it took two phone calls.

Now. Finally. Back to work. Right? Hell No. Looking at maps on the Internet is exhausting hunger inducing business. So, first, I had to rifle through the fridge and locate last night's restaurant leftovers. Mmm. Chicken Marsala and garlic mashed potates. Very healthy, I know.

Trudging my way back to the office, I vowed to everyone who would listen: No. More. Interruptions! Not unless blood and/or death is involved. I managed two more mangled sentences before remembering that I had to call Mom. Just a quick call to tell her something from someone else, because, see... I'm the family messenger person. Just stick some of those nifty wings on my bare feet and call me Hermes. The quick message turned into thirty minutes of debate on whether the 7th Harry Potter novel's name and release date had actually been announced or if it was all speculation. Do you realize how many Harry Potter websites there are?? Ye Gods! Sigh. And if that wasn't enough - my baby sister called on my cell while I was on the phone with Mom - undoubtedly to discuss a party she tricked me into having at MY house next Sunday (Remember? Writing day?).

Hung up with Mom. Called the Baby back and wailed like a police siren about not being able to write and parties at the last minute. How many people are coming? I am Trying to write here! Are you going to help me clean my house? What do you mean, MAYBE? Hello! Writing! Trying to! I have no words! Do I have to cook ALL the food? Oh My God - where am I going to put my kids, as there will be PENISES involved? Small digression: It's a 'Pleasure Party' and I have no clue how I got roped into it. The best I can figure, she called on a Sunday and I Uh-huh'd my way through the conversation. She probably intended it that way. Tricky, tricky. Have to watch those baby sisters - they know manipulation like the alphabet.

So, laughing at me, she tried some reassurance - which was sort of lost on me by that time - and then hung up, telling me to go write. To be safe, I called the one person who hadn't yet called me - left a msg telling him Not to call me. Just covering all my bases. I looked around. Mr. Clean had taken the Doodlebug to a birthday party. Shaggy - my pre-teen - was barricaded in his room with a new PS2 game. Blessed silence. I stared at the screen and then, realizing that the word Gods had moved on to a more deserving individual... I went off to read a book.

And people think writing is easy work??
Labels: | edit post
Reactions: 
0 Responses