Tuesday, January 09, 2018

Taking Time Out


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 CafĂ© 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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