All week I've planned to spend Thursday writing on my new story. It's been a busy few days, and tomorrow will be equally fraught, so this one-day window was something I've been really looking forward to.
Stumbling around for coffee this morning, I somehow manage to stub my big toe. Like agonizingly stub it by splitting the nail and bleeding all over the kitchen floor. Loud cursing ensued. Then later, hobbling into the shower, I accidentally slammed my finger in the shower door. Frigging hell, it's way too early in the day to be a one-legged, one-handed woman. Sigh.
Went to the park with the dogs, then stopped at my favorite coffee kiosk. Driving home a crazy person cuts in front of me, so close she almost scraped my bumper. I drive a big, ol' Blazer, how could she not see me? I slam on the brakes...and my coffee cup tips out of the holder and floods the passenger floor mats. Sigh.
I get home--thankfully without falling off the mountain--and remember that I have to plant a few flowers that I bought the other day at the grocery store. And crap, since I'm outside anyway, I guess I should mow the lawn...though I wore my boots because, well, my day hasn't gone smoothly so far and I'd rather keep my remaining toes.
Finished with chores, I wash up, get clean Band-aids on injured body parts...and notice some weird little bumps on the back of my hand. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, all the camels and donkeys. Now what?
Well, after intense scrutiny, it appears my skin doesn't like the cream that is helping with my gnarly knuckle (post below this one). And doesn't that just figure? I find something that actually works on the snapping and popping knuckle bone...and it's too much for my wussy sensitive skin. Sigh.
Time for a break from all the drama. I give the dogs their lunch, then open the fridge to get the stuff for my daily smoothie...and see the four pears I stashed in the veggie drawer on Monday. Damn. I was going to make a pear tart and forgot. I have to do it now or lose the fruit.
In the middle of peeling one of the pears, my neighbor was somehow able to walk up my stairs to the open front door without the dogs hearing her--and believe me, that's a feat. She gives a cheery hello that startles Ozzy into a barking frenzy and scares the crap out of me. I jump, the juicy pear slips out of my hand...and drops into the garbage disposal. Sigh.
Later, tart done, I glance at the clock and see it's already after 3:00 and I have yet to write one single word. I make some iced tea, sit down at the laptop, then remember I wanted to print some notes. And of course, that's when I discover the printer is suddenly out of ink. I have a really good machine, but it sucks ink like a thirsty vampire.
I might have thunked my head on the desk at this point...
So. Here I am, back from town with fresh ink cartridges, boys are napping, tart is looking good enough to eat, it's 4:30 and I haven't done any writing--except for this post.
Normally, I would think procrastination was at play here, but not today. My throbbing toe and mangled finger disprove that theory. And let's not forget I'm one pear shy of a full tart. Sigh.
Which I think might just explain everything...