a stasis of laze
can’t blame weather anymore
but blaming self? Ha!
I don’t know what the matter is. I’m just sitting here. I did this last week when the wee one was at school, too. I have a book to refamiliarize myself with before the edits begin, another book to finish writing, a kitchen to clean, laundry to wash, a nursery full of non-baby detritus that needs to be organized, floors to sweep and vacuum, piles and piles and piles of papers and bills and envelopes and magazines that need to be sorted and/or trashed. And what do I do when I have the time to get some of this done?
All morning I’ve been enjoying a circuit of reading televisionwithoutpity, nursing, reading entertainment weekly, nursing, and catching up on my TiVo. All while I am surrounded by piles of crap and tumbleweeds of dog hair. I should be embarrassed to admit I can live with the mess, but I’m not, and I can. The problem I’m having right now is the inability to write. But it’s not really an inability. When I actually sit down and do it, I feel great – like how I imagine people who jog must feel after they’ve achieved yet another lap around the lake. It energizes me. It makes me happy. It makes me feel like I’m breathing crisp, cool air. It brings me back to myself. So why am I not doing it? Why am I blogging instead? Why am I fastidiously reading all TwoP Farscape recaps and wondering how much money Alynda Wheat makes?
Could it be that this is my vacation and I don’t really know it? If so, I shouldn’t feel guilty, right? Mama hasn’t been on vacation in a long, long time. I just imagined my next vacation would include a beach and a cold fruity drink, not watching my ass swell on the couch every Tuesday and Thursday.
Oh well, I’ll take what I can get.