Yes, that is what we almost called this blog. It is 3 am, after all. We are both awake for reasons we don't understand. He's reading John McPhee in the recliner next to the Christmas tree. I am in the other recliner with the laptop. The cat is mad because she left his lap for mine, but mine is already occupied. The arm will have to do.
Of course, one of the reasons I'm awake are the nine million to-dos running through my head. Because, as we all know, if one stops, the others will trample it and it will die. Must. keep. running. So I get up and make a stab at productivity. Heck, if I'm going to lie awake thinking about all these things, I might as well knock one or two off the list in the meantime. So, 2am - dishes done. 3am - checkbook updated. Now what? It turns out there is sort of a limit to my capacity at this hour.
"Write!," my self says. Self is always right; I have recently joined a writing group and have little to share with them. I ignore self, however (as usual) and start devouring the archives of the newest blog I've discovered about a woman living on a farm someplace. I'm a connoisseur of them. And then I realize. (Sometimes these realizations are only possible at 3 am). Hey, wait! I am a woman living on a farm someplace. And I should be writing about it. So, heregoes!
No comments:
Post a Comment