Dallying around

There are times when I'd rather do anything than open my current work-in-progress and start writing. No shit, I've been known to scrub toilets and vacuum just to avoid it -- and I've got a note from the allergy doc saying I should never vacuum or dust again as long as I live.

It's not the actual writing that I dread. It's the actual opening of WordPerfect and the file. Once it's open, I'm fine about it. Kind of like exercise -- if you can just get the clothes on and get started, you usually enjoy it.

I usually delay by reading and answering email, then checking out my favorite blogs and (sometimes) blogging myself. Then I play a few games of MahJong or Cubis or Solitaire . . . which leads to a few games more . . . and more . . .

In the interest of getting some work done, I've declared all games off-limits until the end of the day. (Except for whatever I can play during my designated lunch hour -- assuming that I don't watch Jerry Springer instead.) And it's really helping. (Duh -- if you actually write, you get a book done. No brainer there, huh?)

But I still have to check email and blog. If you didn't have me to brighten your day, what would you do? (she asks slyly.)

Okay, so I'm dallying. Let me think of some truly dallying sort of things to say.

Um . . . with all the recent rain, the jungle has truly taken over my yard. I expect to see exotic creatures swinging/flying/slithering along any day now.

I started my glamorous-day-as-an-author yesterday by cleaning up five piles of puke, all from the same dog, all scattered around the living and dining room. Then I cleaned up pee from her brother, who likes to pee where another brother eats breakfast and dinner.

The hot-humid-sunny day the weatherguy promised yesterday got my feet soaked on the way to the office. If I could get my hands on him, I'd drown him. BTW, smart-ass Leah reminded me that God's already given the instructions for building the ark, but I want them in simple English!

My hair is no longer Intense Red Copper but this month is Medium Mahogany Brown. Gorgeous color, but I think it's too dark for my fair Irish skin -- and I do mean fair. If I didn't have freckles, people could be forgiven for thinking I'm dead. So my usual blog picture doesn't really fit anymore, but I don't have time to find one who's Medium Mahogany Brown, so it'll have to do. Besides, I'll be that color again. The only colors I'll never be again are Platinum and Strawberry Blonde. Promise.


I watched AFI's Top 100 movies show last night. Sheesh, what a list of stinkers. I hadn't seen probably half, hated at least another half. In the top ten, I think I'd only seen three or four and hated hated HATED one of those. I think I must be pop culturally challenged. BTW, when they praised Titanic as Casablanca's modern equal, I just about puked. Did I mention I hated Titanic? No, wait, "hate" is too mild a word for it. {{{Shuddering with revulsion}}}

Okay, it's coming up on ten o'clock, and those twelve pages on my schedule for today aren't going to write themselves -- wouldn't it be too cool if they would? Enough dallying for today.





Rachel9:36 AM