Even Writing Has its Laundry


Well, my reprieve has ended, the drilling is back. It’s not overwhelming, not by any means, but I’d like to have the silence. The silence was nice (Well, unless you’re the Doctor, but that’s something else all together).

Now I have to return to thinking around the drilling, which can be done, of course. Just not quite as pleasantly.

Today will be filled with mindless tasks, anyway, the laundry of writing, not the writing itself. It’s amazing how much of that there is, the endless stuff around what you actually want to be doing that needs attention, again and again. There isn’t a job around that doesn’t have its laundry, the things that, no matter how often you do them, come around to having to be done once more.

So it’s fine if a portion of my brain is dealing with the distant sound of a drill bit biting through concrete, it’s no bigger than the portion that will actually deal with my Thursday tasks. Maybe that’s the problem with laundry.

Not intellectual enough.

What I’d really like to do today is grab my Kindle and head outside to read, take in the air and sunshine, and forget all about laundry, the writing kind or otherwise. But that’s the thing with laundry.

If you don’t do it, it piles up.

Need something to read? Check out  Her Cousin Much Removed,  The Great Paradox and the Innies and Outies of Time Management and Aunty Ida’s Full-Service Mental Institution (by Invitation Only) .

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