There, that got your attention, didn't it?
The brutal facts are as follows: I had a rough week on a number of levels, none of which are life threatening, thank goodness. Still, annoying, time-consuming and, did I mention annoying?
So when I came home yesterday, my son asked what I planned to do with the open evening looming before me. He knew the answer before asking the question. Seeing his mother propped up in the recliner, spoon in one hand, peanut butter and two bananas in the other (yup, that's my idea of a binge now that I've sworn off sweets after the scale and I had an ugly tête-à-tête), he saw the handwriting on the wall.
"I'm gonna watch TV!" I announced with the tone of a cirrhosis-livered sailor threatening a two week bender.
My son knows me. He knew what my plans should have been, as I've been bragging all month about how Belabored, the novel God laid on my heart, is almost finished. He's been dutifully tracking its progress and spurring me on, bless his almost 18-year-old heart. But he also knows when to shut up and bring me another jar of cholesterol.
Thus, I commenced my four hour vacation with Jack Klugman, AKA, Dr. Quincy, the crime-solving coroner. He and I stayed put in my living room until the call of nature forced me to abandon my easy chair.
Once upstairs, I realized I had a choice. Being in no mood to dispense pearls of wisdom to as yet unknown readers of my would-be novel, I knew writing was out of the question. Still, I've been putting off reconciling my check book (another fascinating Friday night option), so I sat down and did that. Then I decided to ring up the phone company and get frustrated over their unwillingness to hand over a new cell phone for nothing but the simple joy of keeping me satisfied. I argued with them for about 45 minutes, vociferously proclaiming my good customer status and insisting it wouldn't break them to waive the $40 start up fee they now charge for upgrades. They didn't see it that way, but I did manage to heap a new resentment onto my growing list of complaints for the week. It's always nice to stay on top of things.
When all was said and done, I had paid bills, filed the PHEAA application, responded to old emails, and changed my sheets. I didn't do anything rash like make a meal for my son so he'd have a nice homecoming after a long day of school and work (I didn't want to get too carried away). But I'm pleased to say that those mundane chores, in an odd way, cleared the decks for me to get back to writing today.
I'm learning that sometimes just doing the next right thing can, in my case, lead to the next write thing.
Check out Newsboys' Rescue
For more like this, check out:
Morsels for Meditation...: To Whom Shall We Go?
Morsels for Meditation...: The Mom Thing
The brutal facts are as follows: I had a rough week on a number of levels, none of which are life threatening, thank goodness. Still, annoying, time-consuming and, did I mention annoying?
So when I came home yesterday, my son asked what I planned to do with the open evening looming before me. He knew the answer before asking the question. Seeing his mother propped up in the recliner, spoon in one hand, peanut butter and two bananas in the other (yup, that's my idea of a binge now that I've sworn off sweets after the scale and I had an ugly tête-à-tête), he saw the handwriting on the wall."I'm gonna watch TV!" I announced with the tone of a cirrhosis-livered sailor threatening a two week bender.
My son knows me. He knew what my plans should have been, as I've been bragging all month about how Belabored, the novel God laid on my heart, is almost finished. He's been dutifully tracking its progress and spurring me on, bless his almost 18-year-old heart. But he also knows when to shut up and bring me another jar of cholesterol.
Thus, I commenced my four hour vacation with Jack Klugman, AKA, Dr. Quincy, the crime-solving coroner. He and I stayed put in my living room until the call of nature forced me to abandon my easy chair.
Once upstairs, I realized I had a choice. Being in no mood to dispense pearls of wisdom to as yet unknown readers of my would-be novel, I knew writing was out of the question. Still, I've been putting off reconciling my check book (another fascinating Friday night option), so I sat down and did that. Then I decided to ring up the phone company and get frustrated over their unwillingness to hand over a new cell phone for nothing but the simple joy of keeping me satisfied. I argued with them for about 45 minutes, vociferously proclaiming my good customer status and insisting it wouldn't break them to waive the $40 start up fee they now charge for upgrades. They didn't see it that way, but I did manage to heap a new resentment onto my growing list of complaints for the week. It's always nice to stay on top of things.
When all was said and done, I had paid bills, filed the PHEAA application, responded to old emails, and changed my sheets. I didn't do anything rash like make a meal for my son so he'd have a nice homecoming after a long day of school and work (I didn't want to get too carried away). But I'm pleased to say that those mundane chores, in an odd way, cleared the decks for me to get back to writing today. I'm learning that sometimes just doing the next right thing can, in my case, lead to the next write thing.
Check out Newsboys' Rescue
For more like this, check out:
Morsels for Meditation...: To Whom Shall We Go?
Morsels for Meditation...: The Mom Thing
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