I
was on a roll, tap-tap-tapping at the keyboard.
It had been a while since the words flowed freely. I jumped when the garage door opened. I didn’t expect him home yet. I glanced at the clock. It was early.
It’s a special day when he comes home early.
Hello,
you made good time, I say as the door closes behind him. I’m writing, I lamely add. Hello, he replies. The traffic isn’t bad this time of day. Hey, the neighbor is outside. What’s going on there? There are kids buried in the snow. Who are they?
Tell me about your doctor appointment.
What did you do there? What did
they say? Do you feel better?
I
answered the incessant questions that say I love you, I care about you, I want
to know what you’ve been doing all day, what’s going on in our home, our
neighborhood, our lives. I confess that
I answered them a little harshly, a little tersely. I loathe interruptions of any kind, and especially
those loaded with questions. This is
not the most charming aspect of my personality.
I’m
an ingrate when it comes to incessant love.
I
want to write, I scream in my head. All
day long I’ve been running.
Groceries. Toilet paper. Doctor appointment. Texting kids back and forth. Laundry folding. Sweeping, straightening, putting away. I sat down only thirty minutes ago. Thirty minutes is not nearly enough time.
But.
He
is there, in our kitchen, alone. Reading
the news, checking Facebook. Waiting for
me to be done with my stuff. My
thing. My words.
The
spell is broken. The words flowed slower,
fewer now. The inspiration was leaving;
it flew to the kitchen and sat next to him, holding my spot.
I
clicked save and then the red x. Exhaled.
The
words are lost for now. I hope they’ll
return.
*******
grrrr.... that makes me so, um.... agitated! I like to get the words out!
ReplyDeleteMe too! Of course, the fault is mine - I start too late. I wait until everything else is finished, then I start. I need to start with my stuff!!
DeleteThis is me in a nutshell. Except in the kitchen. With my husband.
ReplyDeleteCommiserations. xo
DeleteIt is really really hard to protect our time and make it a priority. But if we don't....
ReplyDeleteUp next: in which Leigh Ann fails to take her own advice.
Protecting my time - I love that. And yes, I tell myself each day: write first, and then do everything else. Trouble is, I can't focus on writing until the everything else is finished. Which of course it never is...
DeleteI get this. I totally get this.
ReplyDeleteI'm in good company, then. xoxo
DeleteUm. Yes.
ReplyDeleteSo this seems to be a common affliction. It does make me feel better.
DeleteOh yes. I know this. Lately I don't even bother to start. "What's the point?" I ask myself. But it is the point. The writing is my thing. It is good for me. I don't need anything else to stand in the way.
ReplyDeleteI get that. I tell myself I'll get all the rest done so I can focus on my thing uninterrupted. There is always an interruption. Always.
DeleteOh, I've felt this! Most days the words stay inside, because life is always throwing something more important at me. I just recently got back into blogging, FINALLY, and I am in a new relationship with a great guy who wants to be involved in EVERYTHING. Which is so wonderful, I love him dearly. But I had to explain, writing is my escape. I need this for me.
ReplyDeleteYes! It is frustrating when those we love don't get it. We do need to protect our time, as Leigh Ann said earlier. You wouldn't dare interrupt him when he was concentrating on something you know he genuinely loves doing just for himself.
Delete