It's very quiet. I can hear the clock ticking and my computer making it's sounds. A cat is snoring somewhere. The sun is up, but the other people in the house are not. I'm drinking tea. It's cold, having gotten down to freezing overnight. It's May. Those two sentences shouldn't go together. Right now I'm glad I haven't been into gardening this year, or I'd be worrying about my little plants if I'd gotten to them earlier. Most years I wait till about now to do garden stuff anyway. This year I'm not sure how much I'll do. I'm more interested in getting my writing cabin built. Ever since April ended, with it's poem-a-day, I've not done much writing. Maybe I needed a week off. But now we're already ten days into May and I know I need to force myself into some routine, or before I know it, it'll be September. Yeah, I'm not breaking this up which makes it hard to read. It's early and I'm just writing to write. I'm feeling old this morning. Introspective. I want to crawl back into bed and sleep more. It was late (or early depending on perspective) when I got to sleep, probably well after 1 AM. I'm not used to that. But there's lots I need to get done today. But to sleep again, that would be nice. I'm not a very driven individual. I slack off real well. Sometimes I wish I was. Other times I'm glad I'm not. I have a friend who is driven, you'd might even say obsessed. With dance, to the exclusion of just about everything else. On the one hand, I admire that. On the other, it makes me want to shout "Look at all else you're missing!" I wish I was as driven about my writing. I haven't worked on my novel for several months. Not sure why. Well, I can make all sorts of excuses, but that's all they'd be. Am I afraid of it? Or is it that I just can't seem to focus on any one activity for too long? All I know is time is moving much faster these days. It was just the new year, and winter, and there was all the time in the world. Or it seemed that way. But the months and weeks and days and hours and minutes and seconds go by and are gone. I don't know where I'm going. I just get up each day and do stuff. I definitely feel like I'm transitioning between eras of my life. I've embraced the erotic side of my being, and that feels great, but sometimes, like right now, I wish I hadn't of waited so long. I don't want to end this on a downer note. So, I think I'll get back into bed for a few minutes. Start over.
7 comments:
How wonderful. To go back to bed and all that in the morning. I start to relate and then... I'm slammed from the perspective of those who don't have that option to crawl back into bed after the 8:00 am bus leaves the subdivision...hell, I try to beat the damn bus so I'm only less than a half hour late to work after writing from 4:00 am. I simply can't get up any earlier...
But we're all writers. All of us good writers. Hmmm...the internet. We're all equals right now. Until they put a price on it. And then, the social strata will make everything right...I'm glad I was around for the mixer...
I hear you, Robin.
Hi Anon. How wonderful to have a bus that doesn't come until 8am! My son's bus gets here at 6:25am. Yesterday it was early and he missed it. After driving him, I sat and wrote this. I can't get up early and write, I tend to feel sick when I do have to get up early for some reason. I've always been envious of those who can.
And I'm not sure about the "Until they put a price on it." The internet is a different beast, and I think it will resist being stratified. Not that "they" won't try. But my gut tells me something is different this time.
And hi Em, ye olde night owl! :-)
Well, the 8:00 am bus is for the little kids--I hear the high school bus around 7:45 am. My own kids are adults but listening for the bus stays with a mom forever, I guess.
"will make everything 'right'"--forgot the quotation marks. I was feeling a little ornery...I'm better now.
I wonder if I will still hear the bus once my son's off to college. The bus times have changed so much here since my kids were little, that there is no "constant" to remind me. And I find it's easy to let of many of the mom things and sometimes I wonder if that makes me a bad mother? I miss my oldest (by the time I see her later this summer it'll be two years since we last were together), but not in a horribly painful way. Maybe that's because she's happy. Ah, this motherhood stuff is strange. Or not.
And I got it about the orneriness of your comment.
Catching a few extra winks feels so good sometimes.
Mar, I've been doing that a lot lately it seems.
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