Some days you just
have to take a day out, even me who has anything but a busy schedule. This
morning I was to go to a breakfast meeting of the Book Ladies, a group I really
enjoy. But I forgot to program it into my thinking (and wardrobe planning) last
night, and when I woke at seven, my thought was that I did not want to rush
around, wash my hair and make myself presentable in time to leave at 8:20. I sent
a text to the friend who was going to pick me up and went back to bed, where I
dozed until eight when Sophie rousted me out with frantic barking that said she’d
been in long enough and needed to pee Her routine is to get me out of bed, pee,
and come back in to cuddle in the bed I’ve just vacated. She knows that once up
I rarely crawl back in.
Yesterday I went
to lunch with an author/friend and much as I looked forward to it and enjoyed
it, I was amazed at the chunk it took out of my day, not even counting the time
it took to put on makeup and dress. We were gone from 11:15 until 12:45. Now
there’s a dilemma for me: had I stayed home in jammies, that’s an hour and a
half of work I’d have done, with just a tad of time out to fix a lunch that I’d
eat at my desk. But I’d have missed a visit with a wonderful woman who is one
of my special friends.
I usually work
until two or three at my desk and then take a nap that can range from one to
two hours. Not whining, but since I’ve had this cold, it’s hard for me to go to
sleep because of coughing and snorting, and I usually stay longer when sleep
finally comes. And then I feel guilty for sleeping the day away. (When will any
of us get over guilt?)
After I nap I am
not nearly as efficient as I am in the mornings, though last night I worked on
getting tax info together, and evenings are usually when I blog.
So today, with the
whole day to myself, I got a lot done—wrote my daily scene on the work in
progress, put together the recipe section for “Murder at the Bus Depot,” which
is currently with the editor. How had I forgotten that Blue Plate Café Mysteries
have a recipe section? And then I did a chore that loomed as overwhelming—totaled
up what I spent in 2017 on ebooks. Even at $1.07 or $2.15 for a lot of them, it
adds up. A day well spent. Lunch? Cottage cheese with yogurt in one bowl and
some reheated black-eyed peas in another, eaten at my desk.
Late this
afternoon, neighbor Margaret came, bringing wine for happy hour, and she,
Jordan, and I had a delightful time. Somehow at the end of the day, that doesn’t
seem to take as much out of my work time.
But I know myself
too well. I’ll stay home and work like a beaver for three or four days, and
then cabin fever will set it and I’ll be desperate to get out, eat in a
restaurant, visit with friends. It’s a never-ending dilemma—and one I suspect
not only writers but any others who work at home share. It’s like getting rid
of guilt—why can’t we learn to be happy with the moment and stop craving
whatever it is we’re not doing?
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