Reentry

It's amazing how easy it is not to write. It's easier than not going to the gym, not doing homework, not doing the laundry, not answering the telephone: all of which I am particularly good at, by the way, but none of which cause me as much emotional distress as not doing the writing. I've been so good, so good, and then for the last three days I was so, so bad. Yes, Annika was sick. Yes, I was running on fumes. But I think it's obvious to my houseplants at this point that being a mother of two is a stressful, time-consuming undertaking for me in the best of circumstances, a state in which I do not find myself at present, and yet for the most part I have been able to write, forced myself to write, kept writing.

And just now. I cleaned the apartment. I made brownies and stuffed zucchini from the new Saveur. I ate four small plums. I watched a bad episode of the Iron Chef. I did a little paperwork. All this knowing that tomorrow would be another day much like today and that I would not have the proverbial "room of one's own" for more than a couple of hours, and that I was not too tired, and that it was not too late, and that if there were one thing in the world that would actually make me feel better right now for a whole host of reasons it would be to write.

But I put it off, and kept putting it off, even as I thought about the projects I should be working on, and what I wanted to be writing about, and took off the old polish on my toes and painted them dark red, very, very carefully and slowly, and washed the pots and wooden spoons that can't go in the dishwasher by hand instead of leaving them in the sink, and I scrubbed down the tray of Annika's highchair with a dishcloth, making sure I hit all the little crevices, and now it is late, and I am tired, and the girls will be awake in, oh, about six hours give or take, and all I can manage is this.

Let's call it a reentry. A refusal to give in to the dark side. It was way too easy last night, when Annika was cool and smiling again, to give myself another day, another excuse, another pass. It is very easy not to write. I am tired of easy. It's time to get back to work.