|Photo: The Camera's Eye|
If you’re looking for a Gin sloshing, screaming-banshee- kind of a gal you might want to move on along. I’m a grab-the-moment-to-write kind of gal. The kind of writer who always has a pen and a slip of paper tucked safely inside her pocket (just in case a moment of inspiration sneaks up). Oh that I were a Gin slosher, I might get a bit more work done.
I have children…which leaves me little “uninterrupted” time to create. Just yesterday morning, a child of the feline variety (His Highness the Smoomchie Poo), showed his undying love for me by carrying a –mildly stunned- chipmunk to the front door. What ensued was a battle to remove the still breathing creature from His Highness while blocking entrance of both who were trying to gain entrance into my house. I truly don’t have time to rescue wild creatures, but could have never lived with myself if I had done nothing to prevent a senseless death. However, the rescue mission consumed the time I had "blocked off" to write.
Not including this post, which by the way is late (my apologies), deadlines loom ahead. I’ve missed the first self-imposed deadline, which will result in the build-up of pressure, anxiety, and stress as the “real” drop-dead-line approaches. Time compresses with each passing day. Soon I’ll be tucking the beloved husband into bed, waiting for the sound of snoring, then gently tippie-toeing down the hall to write until who knows what ridiculously late hour.
Oh that I could scream like the aforementioned banshee, effectively releasing everything I’ve kept bottled up. I won’t. My family will sit down to a home-cooked meal every single night; they’ll partially put away the dishes, leave their clothes who knows where, and then wonder why they can’t find clean underwear five minutes before the bus arrives.
I’ll try not to be concerned that my right eye has begun to twitch a little. The pollen count is high this spring.
Still I remain completely sane.
No worries. My protagonist is barely speaking to me anyway. She knows I can’t devote vast quantities of time to our relationship right now. Besides, when we last spoke I had followed her into a place she really didn’t want to go in the first place and then had the nerve to record the moment for prosperity. I wouldn’t speak to me either.
The opposites attract thing works for me. My husband-God-love-him, is an engineer. Do I need to say anymore? If I read an excerpt of my writing and he gives a slight nod, then I’ve accomplished something great. He doesn’t read my work. It isn’t that he doesn’t care about my writing; he just doesn’t “get what I’m trying to say.” That’s ok, sometimes I don’t either. I’m too busy keeping one eye trained on the front door. Summer’s coming and His Highness might think that a snake might make the perfect gift.
My goal today was to present a post that would prove that I am not a lunatic. Unfortunately, I must abrubtly bring this to a close. My daughter just called. It appears that the lunch I prepared for her filled with nutritious wholesome snacks (including sliced strawberries with a hint of turbinado sugar) remains on the kitchen counter. So, it’s off to school for me.
Still, I remain...completely sane.
Renea Winchester is the award-winning author of In The Garden With Billy: Lessons About Life, Love & Tomatoes. She blogs about her (sane) adventures in his garden at blogthefarm.wordpress.com.