All I need is five minutes. Ã‚Â I should look for that handy kitchen timer to be sure not to miss one second.
“Honey, do you know where the timer is?”
10 minutes of searching every drawer, cabinet, shelf and nook. Cursing the husband for his maddening stash and dash method of cleaning as I discover pens in the silverware drawer, anti-acids in the dining room buffet and my daughters play doh in with medical records and old interior design magazines, THAT I’VE NEVER SEEN!
I just want to write. Pouring over late night chats with friends, reaching for a snippet. Still chuckling over a comment about writing being as hard as getting into a nun’s panties. Struggling to connect to a writing prompt, trying to make it fit the format, and feeling like the square peg. As I face these uncertainties I question my motivations. Am I wanting to fill my blog with posts, drive traffic and stay true to this Mad Woman persona? Or do I fight to fit into a writer’s mold that feels a little tight and restrictive. Of course I could go the harder route and try to write for the prompts in my own voice. What a concept!
Another niggling doubt: will they get it?
But I’m striking out. Potty training, messy puking cats and an exhausting work week has left me tired. Too tired to write anything worth reading, in five minutes.
This sad excuse for a post/brain dump was written for Fadra’s Stream of Consciousness Sunday. Find more (hopefully better) ones here: All Things Fadra