I made myself a little job jar this week. All it has in it are strips of paper that say - bedroom, or bathroom + laundry room. I want to give a good scrub to one room each day. I'm already behind. The first day I got front porch + pantry - did a bang-up job - put away all the winter clothes, scrubbed the rubber mats in the tub, swept and washed the floors - the whole shebang. Yesterday I got 'kitchen' and I felt aggrieved. Too hard of a job - besides don't I clean it every day? Instead I made berry jam. I used less sugar, it didn't set right. Now it's berry sauce - yummy on our home-made yoghurt.
So what? say all you writers. Who gives a care?!
I still did my writing work. I worked on my poem sequence. I talked to the person that I hope will co-pilot me through a self-published book. I worked on Bright Angel. I'm totally on task with my writing.
I like having extra jobs - self-inflicted because then I will do the writing - the main thing as far as I'm concerned. Then I can feel guilty because I didn't do the kitchen and will have to today, along with 'the bedroom'. I haven't worked on my quilt for days. I didn't do my chants yesterday but I will catch up today - I never let that practice get more than one day behind. I did walk the dog for nice long leisurely walks - oh and by the way - she just upchucked on the very clean front porch floor. Dang.
I have picked up a bag of garbage on the beach every day for a week.
I've made meals, done dishes and put away my messes.
I've kissed my fella, had a nightly bath and read ten books for the library challenge (I aim to win!).
And as I've done all this, the ice has been sliding out of the bay. Yep. Not breaking up dramatically, but pushed gently by the wind over to where the river enters the bay and catching the stream to the ocean. Now I can hardly see any ice it is so far out.
And I'm writing.