I’ve somehow found my way back to my old Sunday routine. Take the dog out for a walk/run/romp in the park (note: he runs; I don’t) then come to Wayward with the laptop and loads of intention to write. I like it here because you can actually bring your dogs inside and have coffee and write and your dog is sitting right next to you, or under the table. Or, as is the case right now, your dog is making this high pitch whine/whistle at a little poodle with a ratty coat and painted nails.
Sometimes it’s hard to write under these conditions.
It’s fun, though. I love to people watch. I love to see them buy their bottles of yerba matte without even talking to the barrista because they’re on their cellphones talking about what a nice day it is outside.
And it is a nice day. It’s sunny and warm(ish) and I get this sense that spring is coming soon and I can’t wait. I can’t wait to go hiking again and to go to Carkeek as many times a week as I can and to sit in the sun on my patio and drink homemade iced americanos and do all the things I like to do when it is sunny and the world is warm.
But now my routine is changing and I’m not sure how to get all of those things in. R works on Sundays–usually a 12 hour shift–so it’s not too difficult to have this day to myself. But figuring out how I want to spend the day is sometimes hard. There’s so much to do, so much I always want to do on my one day to myself, and I never know what to do first, or what I most want to do.
I am finding this leaning towards writing again and I really want to get back into it, throw myself into my stories and send them all off and then think about the novel again. But there’s so much else, so many other things I could do or maybe should do. It’s hard sometimes, to priortize life stuff. I can try to work from home as little as possible, try to get as much done in my fourty hours at the office as I can so I don’t have to work on the weekends. But that’s not always possible, as is the case this weekend; there is work work to be done. And then there are all the adult things I have to do, like getting my hair cut or cleaning my house or paying bills or…
So I’m wondering, I suppose, where writing will fit into my life. How will I make time to do it, and what will I produce? And what, in exchange, will I let go of?
I heard today that as of sometime next year my tv will be obsolete unless I buy a little black box. So maybe I’ll just opt out of getting the box and opt out of tv altogether.
But that would mean no more Seinfeld.
And what kind of world would that be for me?