This week, Saturday was Sunday, Sunday was New Year’s Day, Monday was Saturday, Tuesday was Monday, Wednesday was Tuesday, though I’m writing its post on Thursday, and I could use another nap. Well, nap, period. In the words of Alice (of Wonderland, not Mel’s Diner) I haven’t had one, so how could I have another? The forecast says we may hit sixty-six degrees today. In northern NY. In February. It’s kind of a mess.
I don’t like messes. My ideal weekend, in fact, would include cleaning and organizing my office. Maybe the dining room too, if I get really wild. I want to put things where they go, turn piles into files; that sort of thing. Yesterday, I kept forgetting what day it was, and exclaimed, “oh, puppies!” when I saw a picture of otters. It’s probably a good thing I am not a veterinarian, if I can’t tell the difference between otters and puppies, and definitely a sign that I need one of those nap things. Also, to get out of the house and be around people who do not share my mailing address. My people meter is low.
Tomorrow, Real Life Romance Hero starts a new job, so Friday will, hopefully, look like a normal Friday. I could use the routine. Today is part Wednesday, a little Tuesday, definitely Thursday, and my writing/critting commitments for the day take me through past, present and future. This is enough to make me throw up my hands and retreat to a blanket fort, but that would probably be too hot at sixty-six degrees, so blanket fort is not a viable option, even if the blanket fort does have Netflix.
Because Sunday was New Year’s Day, it wasn’t a writing day, or writing prep day, and that made Monday a grumbly, frantically preparing pages for Tuesday morning critique day. Which ended up being moot, because the one time N doesn’t check her email, so she doesn’t see my message, asking if she could please print my pages, because the family car is committed to RLRH’s job interview (this is the job he starts Friday) and I still can’t find what’s jamming the printer that is right next to my desk, so this means there is still a part of Tuesday out there, ready to pop out at me at some yet to be determined time, after N has had a chance to read and comment on said pages.
Tuesday night, which my brain remembers as Monday, even though I know it was Tuesday, I didn’t watch This Is Us, which I love, because I was working on Her Last First Kiss, and, while part of the reason I stayed at the keyboard instead of shambling off to the living room was that I wanted to stay with the story (because N’s comments, when she had me talk to her about the new scene, even though the pages were cozy in her inbox, got me going and I wanted to capture them) another part of it was that my brain was too flat out tired to switch from writing mode to watching TV mode.
Right now, I have a cable knit blanket in my lap, not because I am cold (though I am sitting directly under a ceiling fan) but because I feel more comfortable with something on me, and also because it’s normal. This has not been a normal week. This week also brought the passing of a cousin I hadn’t seen in quite some time, though we had recently reconnected on FB, as well as renewing acquaintances with two other cousins. One of them now lives in the same city where I attended college for two years, and where I met RLRH. Small world.
Today’s task list is a mishmash of things from other days, shuffled around, grafted in and cobbled together. As much as I like making order out of chaos, this feels like a lot of chaos. This is where Anne Lamott’s famous one inch picture frames come into use, as well as Barbara Samuel’s “in this moment,” writing prompt. What do I need to do right now? Do that. Everything else can wait its turn. Right now, it’s this blog entry. After that, tea.
Technically, slipping out to the coffee house this afternoon is actually last Friday, in case my personal timeline wasn’t spiraled enough, but I know there will be tea and I will plug in my earbuds and open a notebook or turn on my laptop, and, as a once upon a time writing group facilitator often said, the practice begets the product. Her rule was that, once our pens hit the pages, they had to keep moving until she called time. It didn’t matter what we wrote on those pages, only that we kept the pens moving. Our brains knew how to write, and, they know that’s what happens when pen is on paper.
There have been many times this week, when I didn’t know what day it was, or 5PM felt like 10PM, 2AM felt like 6AM and 9PM at the same time, but the one thing that has remained a constant is the writing. Hero and Heroine, Girl and Guy, know what they’re doing, where they’re going, and how they’re going to get there. Think I’ll let them drive.