Well. It’s been 4 days since my last post, and it hasn’t exactly been a daily endeavor. Not the most auspicious start, but given I’ve always been pretty Pollyanna in my worldview, I’m willing to go on believing this will still be a daily thing. I’m just choosing to start today. Today is a new day, remember. OK, seriously now. I mean it. I will make this a daily thing. I plan to use time every day, anyway I can, wherever I can thieve it from to make my 10 minutes of morning pages. Even if they aren’t in the morning, a girl’s gotta start somewhere. And the blog, well, I’ll commit to a daily writing as long as it takes to make it stick.
In these four days I’ve been to work twice, to physical therapy, spent the day with my 5-year-old granddaughter, who my husband and I raise, after her graduation (no that’s not a typo, it was really a graduation from pre-kindergarten), out to my sister’s farm to visit with my mom who was in a serious car accident two weeks ago. I’ve also ridden shot gun on two dinner party planning ventures driven by said 5-year old, one to include her Gong-Gong (granddad) in her graduation since he couldn’t make it and the second in honor of his birthday. This also doesn’t include laundry, planting the tomatoes and basil and the strawberry fairy garden as well as trying to plant several mail delivery plants that are near dead and still in their pots as I type owing to a very sudden change in weather. That’s a lot going on even for someone who’s not trying to beg, borrow and steal every stray minute possible to get some writing in. It’s been a tough week. Not likely to be any different next week either.
My challenge is to continue to carve the minutes out, grow them into moments and then into ever larger bits of time. I feel a bit like a thief. Like I don’t dare tell anyone I’m trying to do something like this. Worse still, if I feel like I have a few minutes, or even an hour where I’m going to go write, I’m trying to go against my grain and NOT tell. I’ve found sharing this sort of dream for some reason seems to invite encroachment, time poachers. Unwritten expectations by well meaning friends and family members who inevitably seem to require my urgent attention as soon as they think they won’t have it undivided.
Quite crazy making.
What to do? Well, not sure exactly. Part of me has become quite furtive with my time. Sneaky even. At work, at home when I can get away with it, which is almost never given stuff won’t get done less I’m the one doing it. I’ve checked out of most everything I can and have even downgraded my minimum level of accepted ‘clean’ in the house. I used to think if I didn’t give the level of clean in the house at least a B+, it wasn’t clean enough. Now, I’ve got dust enough to write my name in on the piano. There’s dog hair bunnies on the wood floor and even on the carpet (who knew that could happen), which is really only enough to make me cringe when the sun slants in through the window at a certain angle in the morning. That’s the time of day that often finds me on my knees chasing the piles of dog hair with a Swiffer or scooping them up by hand if a Swiffer seems too much trouble, which is often. There’s a ring in the toilet. I need someone to come in and help me clean, I’m certain of it.
And still, it’s not enough. I thought at one point Stella going to school would help out. But all of that will happen when I’m at work. Right now, it looks as though I’ll be pilfering minutes as I can while at work. I’m curiously OK with that at this point.
Categories: Short story