I Do Everything But Write When I Get Home

Make sure the front door is locked. I can not count the number of times I have been watching television when an errant breeze blew my front door open and scared the ever loving out of me.

A drink. Soda. apple juice. Coffee, but rarely that late in the day. Or, lately, whiskey and ginger ale. I have to have something to drink, to unwind and relax with or I can’t let go of work and focus on the important business of creating (or of not creating) while i stare at my computer and wait for a fully realized novel to appear there suddenly, in need of only an editor and a publishing deal.

Watching Oscar-caliber films, because I need to further my cultivation because I need further depth in my life, intelligent film to offset all of the entertaining trash I’ve watched over the years

Getting almost everything in my kitchen out of sight. I had emptied it for the last visit from the exterminator and I liked it that way, emptied, so I have been trying to maintain it. And, I noticed it was getting a little crowded on the countertops, trying to return to its regular state, of an ordinary functioning kitchen, so I spent some time taking everything away.

Deleting unused apps on my computer, and unplayed games on my phone. It’s the responsible behavior of properly-functioning adults and I don’t understand why I don’t do it more often. Then I downloaded three more games, so…

Getting my clothes and backpack ready for work. I am so tired of scrambling around, looking for my wallet, or keys, or work phone or winter gloves when I should have already been out the front door, just because I didn’t get organized the night before. My clothes should be laid out, boots neat and clean on the floor beneath them. My wallet and key should be in the wooden bowl by the front door. My phones should be charged and placed next to my keyboard. My backpack? Zipped and functional with a small first aid kit, hand sanitizer, face masks, notepad, spare change, portable charger, lunch, etc. 

Taking a well-deserved breather. Everyone needs to take time to relax, in these trying times. We have to learn how to be gentle with ourselves, kind to ourselves, how to love ourselves, take better care of ourselves. We need breaks. We deserve breaks.

I have to eat. What’s for dinner?

I need to go to bed at a decent hour. 9. 9:30. I’m not a tween anymore. I can’t run all day on one hour of sleep. I need my eight hours and two cups of coffee to drag myself into work and do just enough to keep my job.

But, before I turn out the lights and play a game on my phone untilI feel sleepy, I type in a couple of sentences. Resistance hasn’t got me yet. It’s another productive day for me.