I can hear the tangy, slightly off-key voice in my head, see the bright red lips purse around each word.
Ado Annie: “With me, it’s all or nothin’. It’s all or nothin’ with me.”
Actually she and Will sing that song to each other, but no matter, the sentiment is the same—and it describes me to a “T.”
I started writing again—I really did. But on days I had good BOC (bottom on chair) time, I got nothing else done. No boxes unpacked. Nothing put away. No nagging the children to keep things picked up in the house.
So the past three days I’ve written nothing.
Why? Because I’ve been unpacking boxes like a madwoman, determined to clear out the garage. Because I’m sick of burning the backs of my legs on the seats in my car which is parked in the driveway, in full sun. See what I mean? All or nothing. I started the boxes thinking I’d just work on them in the morning and write in the afternoon. No way. Doesn’t work.
In theory, I imagined I would use to summer days to write two to three hours then have the rest of the day continue unpacking and to generally keep my life together. In theory. Reality is: it’s all or nothin’ with me, baby.
So at least in recognizing this character trait (or flaw), I think I’ve come to at least a truce with myself. No more unrealistic goals of writing and getting other projects done. It’s an either/or proposition. Either I write that day, or I do other things that need to be done. I simply have to make sure that I have writing days at least three days a week.
I think I can do that.