So here I sit in front of my computer, in an eerily quiet house because my kids are back in school, and for the first time all summer, I am actually faced with free time to write!
I scroll through my Facebook feed flooded with back to school photos. I get up and pour another cup of coffee. I go out for a smoke. I comb through emails that have gone unanswered for months. I read a few articles that people have posted. I look at the unfinished posts I started to write but shit the bed on. The Paolo’s series…gotta get back to that at some point. I started writing about the All Good festival I went to this summer, but never finished. They’re so hard to get back into, like the pair of jeans I have from college. So they sit there in my drafts folder, starting at me, taunting me. I give them the finger. For real. I actually gave my screen the finger, because that is what mature 42 year old women do.
It is so quiet in my house. There is dog hair everywhere. Maybe I should be vacuuming instead? I’m so tired, and there’s that Breaking Bad episode on the DVR I haven’t watched yet. I think that Jesse Pinkman is going to bring the whole fucking house down.
Writing is like sex in that the more you have it, the more you want it. Once you stop doing it every day (you’re just sooooo tired) you decide a few times a week is enough. Next thing you know it becomes your weekly “duty” and slowly the joy is drained from the experience as it is now an obligation, rather than the immense pleasure it used to be. You have to have a lot of sex. You have to keep it regular, and alive. It fills you with pleasure, with desire and intimacy, connecting you in a way that nothing else can. Just like writing, in fact, exactly like writing. I didn’t even think of that before I typed it. I feel smart.
I went to my soon to be sister-in-laws bachelorette party in Philly last weekend. I could write about that. We talked about eating placentas at dinner. It was lovely.
I’m hungry, I think I’ll have a bowl of cereal and think more about thinking what to write about. Shit, I’m out of coffee. I’ll brew another pot and while I’m waiting I’ll get on Facebook to post photos of my kids getting on the bus. No one has seen enough kids getting on busses photos this week.
I like to keep it fresh.