I’ve really gone to seed since I moved to the country. For example:
· Why get dressed? Where am I going?
· Why spruce up? Who is going to see me?
· Why bathe? Who is going to…never mind.
I’m kidding about that last one. Mostly. A couple of other things have suffered along with my appearance—housekeeping and writing. So what AM I doing all day if I’m not grooming, scrubbing windows, or authoring the next best seller? I wish I knew, because I’m busy all day and go to bed tired. Maybe I’m being abducted by aliens for testing. That would explain…never mind.
I’ve told myself repeatedly that I’d get back on a schedule and write. That I’d get on a schedule and run the sweeper. That I’d comb my hair at least once a day.
The fact that I’m not working a “real” job makes me think that I have all the time in the world, so instead of wisely budgeting said commodity, I’m doing what I want to do when I want to do it while suffering a bad case of bed-head and wearing kitty cat pajamas.
This has got to stop.
Starting next week, I will dedicate a portion of every day to writing.
I know, I’ve said that before, but this time it’s really going to happen. And I really mean that. Mostly.
First, though, I’m going to take out the trash because it’s starting to smell. Wait a minute. Is that me?