Why is it that when there is a story in your head, the ideas overflow, you can't sleep, tossing and turning, eager to get all off to work and school just so that you can begin that new project? But then before you begin, the mundane tasks are to be done. Nothing runs smoothly, your daily routine has gone to pot, and yet, all you want to do is sit down, write, get the imgination into full sing, and begin that new adventure?
It is soon lunchtime, no time for a cuppa - no time to do anything, as your day is going fast. That easy job of cleaning the bathroom has taken longer than usual, more washing to put away, the phone ringing, you forget you need groceries.
one o'clock comes and goes, soon nearing two, and you have your nearest and dearest calling you.Their day is going bad, so you have to listen, sympathize, whilst rolling your eyes in annoyance, knowing they're unable to see you, as your first sit down of the day means a good ear bashing about how so and so is "doing their head in" and you just wishing that they would hang up, and leave you be.
Three o'clock. Kids' will be home shortly. You sneak your cuppa, a biscuit, and find a pen, sit down and begin to write. How rejoiced you feel, the pen running like a smooth car over your lined paper, no mistakes, no stopping and thinking, just pure indulgence, your feelings coming fast and furious. But then the phone -it rings. "Pick us up, it's cold" the darlings say. With more pulls to your face, like Mr. Rubber, you reluctantly agree. looking at those few sentances with woe, wishing to have written more, as you put your scribblings away, and grab the keys to the limousine and head off to torture yourself in queues of traffic with parents in their 4x4's.
And so the end of the day is here. The house is a mess, the kids are arguing, old man is watching footy, and the dogs' are running around the house pulling socks from the washing basket. And me? Well i am at odds. The day that i had planned had not gone to plan. Not a thing that i enjoyed doing had been acheived. And so with a yawn i get into bed, hoping that one day i can write that story that is dancing in my mind. It may be the next day that it can be done. But knowing my luck? Well give it a year or two....at least.
It is soon lunchtime, no time for a cuppa - no time to do anything, as your day is going fast. That easy job of cleaning the bathroom has taken longer than usual, more washing to put away, the phone ringing, you forget you need groceries.
one o'clock comes and goes, soon nearing two, and you have your nearest and dearest calling you.Their day is going bad, so you have to listen, sympathize, whilst rolling your eyes in annoyance, knowing they're unable to see you, as your first sit down of the day means a good ear bashing about how so and so is "doing their head in" and you just wishing that they would hang up, and leave you be.
Three o'clock. Kids' will be home shortly. You sneak your cuppa, a biscuit, and find a pen, sit down and begin to write. How rejoiced you feel, the pen running like a smooth car over your lined paper, no mistakes, no stopping and thinking, just pure indulgence, your feelings coming fast and furious. But then the phone -it rings. "Pick us up, it's cold" the darlings say. With more pulls to your face, like Mr. Rubber, you reluctantly agree. looking at those few sentances with woe, wishing to have written more, as you put your scribblings away, and grab the keys to the limousine and head off to torture yourself in queues of traffic with parents in their 4x4's.
And so the end of the day is here. The house is a mess, the kids are arguing, old man is watching footy, and the dogs' are running around the house pulling socks from the washing basket. And me? Well i am at odds. The day that i had planned had not gone to plan. Not a thing that i enjoyed doing had been acheived. And so with a yawn i get into bed, hoping that one day i can write that story that is dancing in my mind. It may be the next day that it can be done. But knowing my luck? Well give it a year or two....at least.
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