I have these grand and glorious intentions of “writing every day for a month” or the like. Kinda like when Dean declared, “I’m going to read 12 books this year, one a month” to which I replied (dripping with sarcasm, of course), “why not just read book and see what happens from there.”
She read exactly one book.
Kudos to her! I’m still on my first book. I’m not sure what happens on a nightly basis. It seems like there’s plenty of time to read, write, sing songs, express a sonnet, paint a picture of a sailboat against a sunset on the ocean….
And then distractions. Lots of distractions.
I have an office now. I should just lock myself up in my office and do those things. Perhaps even CREATE a few things. But, I work alone all day. So, the idea of just going upstairs to my corner office (YES! I finally have the ever so coveted corner office!) and sitting there alone (at least I’m sitting on an Aeron now!) just doesn’t appeal to me. At least not the first thing in the evening. Later in the day, as I turn more melancholy and reflective. Well, then I can go upstairs and be left alone in my thoughts.
Alone in my thoughts. Nice song title! Maybe I should start…
Nope. Been there. Did that. Not very good.
Now where was that book….
