Things Fall Apart
What qualifies as writing when you've committed to writing, wouldn't think of not writing, but you can't bring yourself to write?
Does a single question count, or must it be more?
"Tell me a story," I say to the toddler. "I'll write it down."
"Later. I'm watching a show."
"Tell me a story and then watch your show."
"Mommy, you have your own computer. Stop staring at my iPad."
Perhaps a typed-up transcript of morning pages. A written record of dashed intentions.
I brought my bin of art papers to the office this morning, thinking I could use them to make SoulCollage cards. I could feel the old overwhelm circling up around me, stymied inspiration. But I think that's evidence that I need to stay focused more than anything else. Get work done. Don't flit from task to task. Be deliberate about how you spend your small pockets of free time.
A confession: I spent my one small pocket of free time reading an article debunking Food Babe. I don't know how I got there, or why I cared. So much for deliberation.
Maybe a recap of the day would suffice. A list of meetings attended, emails sent, tasks completed.
When I left the office for the day, I arrived to find that the lock had popped out of the door. I stared at it dumbly for a solid minute, waiting for a sign of what to do. When I touched it, the whole thing fell off in my hand--lock, door handle and all.
I walked around to the passenger side and looked for signs of theft. Nothing had gone missing; the contents of the glove box seemed untouched.
It seems unlikely that someone break into my humble Ford, parked at the front of the lot next to the windows. But why else would a door handle that functioned fine this morning suddenly self-combust?
Tomorrow I'll look at the security cam footage.