Early rise at 7:00am. The whole day ahead of me. No plans but to write.
I don’t get out of bed until 7:35 because I check my email on my iphone and text a friend birthday wishes.
I get dressed to work out and head upstairs to my Pilates Springboard.
I stretch and work out for 20 minutes. I’m feeling loose and clear headed.
It’s downstairs for a protein shake. I add peanut butter this time.
And then for the next three hours, I sit at the kitchen counter, in front of my computer, with my head up my ass, checking and rechecking FB and Twitter (for what I’m not entirely sure) I send and answer non-priority emails. I Google the name of the Rooster dinner plates sold at Sur La Table to see if they're cheaper somewhere else. I also do a search for clear, plastic, magazine racks.
Lunch time already? I eat leftovers with my lover and vow, if only in my head, that when I’m finished, I will sit down and write. I’m beginning to feel like a poop stain.
I decide that I have to do laundry. We’re going away this weekend and I need my favorite jeans washed. They’ve gotten too loose, which makes my ass look like I've got a load in my pants. I want that, ‘just out of the dryer’ tightness.
I start panicking because we’re supposed to leave at 3:30p and I haven’t begun to pack and I feel rushed. I haven’t written a word.
I go back upstairs to the Springboard to stretch because all of the sitting that I've been doing makes my legs tight and achy.
After another 20 minutes, I head back downstairs to work.
My computer is dragging, freezing, and acting like a petulant child. I fear that I might lose data.
I find my external hard drive and start copying files. What about my pictures? All hell breaks loose (in my head). It’s been a long time since I backed up my iphoto library. I’ve forgotten how to copy my one thousand plus photos.
It’s another hour and a half before I realize that trying to copy my photos on a computer that’s giving me the finger, is a colossal waste of time. F’it! If I lose my pictures, I lose my pictures.
Because I feel ashamed and humiliated at my ginormous unproductive self, I don’t give a rats ass if all I have to remember my friend's kids faces are my memories.
I swipe my laptop off the counter and head outside to my deck because, while I’ve been posting my boyfriend’s car for sale on Craigslist, the sun has been shining, and the wind has been blowing. It’s a gorgeous day.
I sit down but I can’t find an area at the table where there isn’t a glare.
When was the last time I cleaned my computer screen? It’s filthy. I go back inside to grab my dry cloth and iKlear. I’m sure I can use something else but I’ve been brainwashed by the Apple mafia.
Crap, I step on the wet mat outside the deck and now my socks are soaking wet.
I wipe the screen and feel a little cleaner. I sit down. I'm ready.
But now the anxiety of having to leave in four hours (I pushed back our departure time for fear that my jeans wouldn't be dry) has taken up precious real estate in my brain. How can I start when I know I’ll have to leave soon.
I need more time. Maybe tomorrow.