The Husband is snoring softly beside me as I tap out a post on my muted phone. It’s a struggle. The two thumbs seem to have multiplied and not even autocorrect can save me.
Some nights when the house is shuttered and I’ve finally crawled into bed I’m overwhelmed with the need to spin a few sentences. To cobble together some thoughts and just see where the scribbling takes me.
But this time, having unplugged the phone from its charger, taken a photo of all the half-read books on my bedside table and slipped back under the covers, I’m too tired to create.
I will record a few things for the record though.
By all objective measures life is good. I have regular work writing corporate copy for a lovely client and I’ve just finished a cover story for YTM – a story based on my idea and fruit of a confident pitch.
But I’m obsessed with the website I’m building as a gift. I’ve let it hijack too many days and I’m in a deep, deep hole with my book keeping obligations. On Monday our mobile phone service was suspended because I hadn’t paid the bill. For two months.
I have to stop building the website and open all those envelopes piling up on my desk.
It’s a debilitating character flaw, my tendency to fixate on a project and let everything else slide. My life doesn’t afford me that luxury. It would be nice to be a great talent who could justify hours and hours lost in exploration and experimentation. But I am not and therefore cannot. There are bills to pay and brochures to proof and a ‘fast facts’ box to curate; jobs all screaming for my attention.
I resolve to ignore Project Odyssey tomorrow and tackle my to-do list. If I can find it.
