I took off work last week, and spent the time … well, working. The house hadn’t been cleaned in ages, and the dog hair was practically doubling as wall-to-wall carpet. All of us were sneezing from dust and dander and I don’t know what all. So as soon as the assorted back-allergy-etc. drugs kicked in, I went at it — OK, not hammer and tongs, but certainly vacuum and dust rag. Oh, and mop.
And once that was done, I attacked the outside. Mowing, weeding, planting. $100 worth of flowers that Lowe’s assures me they will refund when everything dies in this 92-degree heat. (Speaking of which: Can I finally put away my winter coat? Or is it going to drop back down to 40 next week?)
Thursday was our religious holiday, a day of rest, also known as the Nats’ home opener. Lovely, lovely.
The one thing I Forgot to do? Take pictures of all this stuff. Actually, that’s not entirely true. I took pictures. With my “real” camera. Which is on my dresser, and nowhere near a computer for me to transfer the photos where someone could actually look at them, like, say, this-here blog. Perhaps there will be an edit forthcoming.
The one thing I Did Not do? Write. It was just too nice outside, and then I was too lazy, and then I had movies to watch, and and and … yeah. I’m in a trough. I am blaming it on vacation and upended schedules and child musicals and other assorted stressy stress, but really I just don’t feel like it. I have heard — and occasionally experienced — the adage that Writers Have to Write. So maybe I’m not really a Writer, because while I definitely have those stretches where I feel the need to create something, I also have long, LONG periods where I don’t feel compelled to do a single damn thing with words, aside from observing how other people string them together.
But! I did get paid for my Quicklet Cliff’s Notes thing, and there was practically zero rewrite! I suspect the lack of rewrite is a failing on the editor’s part and if I can’t get my esteemed eagle-eye hubs to look it over before it goes anywhere I will doubtless be horrified when I look at it in days to come — but in her defense I guess she was more focused on the formatting than the writing. Anyway — payment! I’m so excited. If this is ever produced and formatted and for sale somewhere, I will post a link.
Maybe that’s the issue. Maybe I’m not a writer but a deadline addict? Linda Ellerbee (I think, I’m pretty sure) wrote this great thing once about how her editor breathing down her neck was the best incentive for housecleaning, whereas the impending arrival of overnight guests was the surest way to get her to sit down and write 20,000 words. Maybe I need to invite my grandmother out for a visit. She’s the queen of fastidious and my house could never be clean enough in my eyes to do her justice. Seriously, this is a woman who neatly folds plastic grocery bags before stacking them in precise right angles in specified kitchen drawers, y’all. If the idea of her visiting can’t spur me into writing-as-cleaning-avoidance, nothing can.
Or maybe I should just get back to my day job. Break’s over!