It seems I am procrastinating this week. (okay so we've only had two days so far- but they've been entire days, as it's now Tuesday evening.) I can only hope that tomorrow will be a more settled writing day and that I will write. And write more than 1000 words.
It's not that I'm stuck, or have reached any kind of major character crisis or anything. Not at all. In fact the story is coming along swimmingly.
So what's the problem?
The unsettledness of having interrupted days. Of being so goddamn tired by night fall that I can't be bothered writing or even taking a notebook to bed and making well, notes. It seems I'm not adjusting to the interruption that is Kindergarten very well at all. It's been quite a few years since I've had to adjust to such an interruption. Squealer didn't go to kindergarten due to her being extra special - and hating people and all animals (except our large dog) - not all people, generally just peers. She hated being around other kids. HATED it. And became so stressed by the experience that she'd go to her room and cut pieces of paper until they were confetti. (I'm sure you can picture it... rocking, cutting paper, sitting in a circle of confetti muttering to herself.) You can imagine what happened when a petting zoo was involved, it was days before we could lever her from her bedroom for another round of inadvertent torture.
We didn't do kindy. Or anything else that required interaction with outsiders until she was 5 - and even then it was a struggle. It's still a struggle.
So now we do kindy. With Breezy the socialite. Breezy the entertainer. Breezy the smart, funny, extroverted bundle of energy. Breezy who congratulates Squealer for walking from school to kindy by herself and positively beams at her big sisters cleverness.
What I have noticed about kindy is that when I decide to ignore all the children (30) and sit in the sun and write... it only takes about five minutes before they all start to ignore me. For the first five I get questions, and requests for help - after that the novelty wears off. (a blessing: they don't realize -the sweet wee innocent things - just how cranky I can get when constantly freaking interrupted!)
Thank god I have something to pin my lack of activity on!
It's not that I'm NOT writing. It's just that for me I'm writing slowly. It pisses me off. I'm a fast writer. I get an idea and I WRITE. And it consumes me until it's done.
This time it's more like an annoying drone, never quite hitting fever pitch and forcing my fingers to the keyboard. Except... when I start to read it back. I'm reading thinking... this is really good. I wonder how they'll get out of that? Shit, don't tell me this all ties up with that bastard? Oh my god why doesn't she just admit it already!
And I know I have to write the rest, so I know how it ends.. .and how they get out of it. And if she admits it or not.
So I go order more cool stuff from Vistaprint. Then I go visit the Officemax order point and get another black ink for my color printer, and some triple A batteries for the remotes. Most importantly - I order an A2 desk pad... because I'm sick to death of losing post-it notes. And I really missed having something right under my keyboard to doodle ideas and thoughts on.
And I check my diary for the next specialist appt for Squealer and realize she needs a new script by the weeks end. Four bottles of Dolcetto & Syrah arrive to thank Rose, Megan, and I for our superlative supervising skills at the ball after party - we now have plans to drink said gorgeous wine on Friday night. (which will effectively right Saturday off in a hungover cloud of painkillers)
And I opened the docx file for the 3rd Conway book and set to work revising and tweaking that.
And I almost finished reading Quinn Cummings NOTES FROM THE UNDERWIRE in a day, because it's hilarious.
And fold two days worth of laundry. And visit the stupidmarket. And make burgers for dinner.
Tomorrow I shall write. Tomorrow. Wednesday. I'm home all day.
I will write.
Don't look at me like that.
I will write.