Monday, February 01, 2010


I have apparently mastered the art of procrastination.This morning I woke up (very late) thinking I had a whole day to write. I knew, of course, I wouldn't write all day but I thought I could get in a couple of solid two-hour stretches. Well, I fiddled the morning away reading emails, watching TV, checking Facebook, doing a laundry, etc., so it was 10:30 before I went to the office to do the 30 minutes worth of things I had to do there. Then I came home and waited for my lunch friend to call--she had an emergency 10:30 dental appointment for a cracked tooth, thought she'd be through by noon. Well, of course I couldn't settle down to write, never knowing when she'd call, so I spent fruitless time on Web sites trying to renew prescriptions, check my credit card bill, etc.--do NOT get me started on Web sites and automated phone systems. More email (I always have plenty of that to read and some to respond to). Just as I was about to give up and eat lunch, Carol called at almost 1 p.m., so we met at Carshon's and had a good and productive visit. Home to more emails, etc.,though I did read the last two chapters of what I've written to be sure of where I'm going next. I truly had it in my head, but instead of writing it I settled for reading my current mystery--Murder with Peacocks by Donna Andrews. When you talk about cozy mysteries with humor, this one beats all, with  a wacky southern family, three weddings, a daughter who's trying to keep it all together, and, of course, a murder.
Well, then, of course I had to have a nap, get up, feed the dog, and do my yoga, plus feed myself because I knew a friend was coming by for a visit about 6:30. We chattered and gossipped until 8:15,  and then I had to fold laundry, get the dog in, feed the cat, brush my teeth and all that night-time stuff. Then more emails. Plus I felt obliged to write to some friends I hadn't heard from for a long time--someone asked about them at dinner last night.
Long story short, here it is after ten and I'm blogging instead of writing. And, excuse me, but I'm going to go back to Murder with Peacocks. Not a word written, though the next scenes are clear in my head. Such is retirement--and it's good.

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