The Dirty Dozen–IV

This morning, the girls’ school held its annual bike rodeo. I dropped them off at the regular time, but instead of heading to the park to walk and then home to write, I parked at the curb and waited half an hour for Coco to come out with her class. Hauling her bike out of the car, I watched her ride the obstacle course. As soon as she was through, I put her bike back in the car and got Cherry’s bike out. When it was time to put the second bike in the minivan, disaster struck. The handle bars snapped back at me, jamming the rubber handgrip into my eye socket. Ouuuchhh! I had to sit for a while with ice on my shiner. 

When the swelling went down, I went shopping. Cherry’s birthday is next week. Three stores and a few miles later, I was home again. Home, by the way, is a wreck–beds unmade, dishes in the sink, laundry to be done. All the things I do in the morning hadn’t been started yet. Pushing the housework aside, I made myself lunch and sat down with my laptop.

Here’s the moment of truth. Do I write or blow the day off? I looked at the plot board. I’ve plowed my way through a sea of post it note plot points by doing a little each day. I’m not in the mood to write. I don’t want to do it. I’m lousy. The house is a mess. My eye hurts. The day is shot.

Okay, open the file and just look.

I clicked on the .doc file. Without reading from yesterday’s work, I began to type. I kept typing. A few hours later, I finished the day’s pages. They’re awful. I’m awful, but I did it anyway.

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