Where’d It Go?

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I was up this morning at a little past seven. I fixed breakfast. I washed dishes. I paid bills. I talked with my mother for about an hour when she came over. I wrote a while. About an hour ago, I lunched on peanut-butter crackers, mixed nuts and Diet Coke. I played my guitar for a short time, then took my Martin to the closet and fetched the Pawless. To my right is the day’s second mug of coffee, which I am about to sip. I’m writing this.

It’s 2:50 p.m. That’s it. That’s all I’ve done. This is just not acceptable. I’ve got a chapter to finish, an outline to update, and what this blog should be is another installment in the latest short story. But it’s not. I’m not up to it yet. I’ve still got to go to the post office and mail the bills.

This is just not acceptable. I feel like I’ve done nothing. Yet I haven’t been idle. I haven’t even taken any time off to read. Reading is not idle. Reading is good for writing. Writing is what I do.

Damn social media. Yeah, I’ve checked it, but that was when my mother was talking about someone who died that I couldn’t place so I just acted like I could.

Really, there are days when I think, well, I really got a lot of quality work done. Most days, though, fall short. Most days are productive for a while, but then it seems like time starts getting faster, and, all of a sudden, it’s, uh, 2:59 p.m. now, and, hell, the post office closes at 4:30, and I’ve still got to shave and take a shower and look like I’m somebody when I go out to run errands.

Yesterday was exciting. I wrote fiction in two places. I left a novel at a restaurant. I should be able to find it. Hardly anyone else reads in public. It’s taboo. I’m eccentric.

I went to the Family Dollar and bought some eggs, only to find out when I got back home I really didn’t need any because there’s a dozen I forgot about on the top shelf of the refrigerator that’s invisible unless I lean over.

Maybe I’ll make some egg salad.

As the philosopher John Denver once noted, “Some days are diamonds. Some days are stones.”

Most of mine are somewhere in between.


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