I am writing this while my groceries languish on the counter, frozen foods melting, snacks being ravaged by children, milk sweating profusely. I am in a fight with my daily writing habits.
I keep telling them I am tired, that I am just getting over being sick, being on vacation. I tell them that I need time alone to focus on other things, working out, eating right, housework, children, spouse, friends. They just stare at me, brooding and waiting.
I am in a fight with my daily writing habits but they just glower in the corner, sighing heavily from the chair I usually occupy when we’re not in a fight. They grind their sharp teeth while I check my email, while I answer the phone, while I play Solitare and Angry Birds. I point to my poor, slouching groceries on the counter, “You see?” I say with added drama, “this is what happens!” I shriek. My daily writing habits just shake their collective head and cross their arms over their chest, unmoving. They have no compassion. They do not sit quietly and smile encouragingly. “I have responsibilities!” I add. They turn away, facing the window, defiant.
I am in a fight with my daily writing habits. I will probably cave and meet their demands. I always do. It’s the only way we get anything done around here.