It seems like the past week has been some kind of cosmic conjunction of calamities.
Between our van breaking down and leaving us with one car, the NATO protests in Chicago looking historic on the internet and practically non-existent in the major media and my home coffee maker failure/replacement I have been splintered into a million directions. The hubbz (my affectionate term for Mr. Diamond) and I got the boys’ room mostly clean yesterday and completely skipped badly needed grocery shopping. The list of things to do has only grown in the last 48 hours and I’m stuck here with no working vehicle and no excuse not to do them all.
Top all of these things off with my recently approved author’s profile on the website #amwriting, and I’m still in a pretty good mood. I have my to-do list written out, my coffee in hand and my allergies to keep me from sitting still for longer than it takes to fill a tissue with the stupid pollen sniffles. So what am I doing with this lengthy list of tasks set before me? Writing a mundane domestic blog post about my procrastination. Nice.
Why is writing always last on my list? Because every other thing I have to do is ultimately a responsibility to someone else as well. If only I could escape to a place where time didn’t exist, just long enough to pen my masterpiece. I suppose a watched to-do list doesn’t check itself off.