Getting out of the shower last night, I had another one of my drip and runs. The ideas were coming so fast, I couldn’t dry off completely before running to my room to grab a pen and paper. I don’t bother signing in or turning on the computer — don’t want to get electrocuted after all.
I managed to keep the towel around me and make only a small puddle on the floor as I hurriedly scribbled the thoughts that were dripping from my brain. The stories in me that are begging to be written were talking so fast, I couldn’t keep up. They were telling me their tales at the same time, like a crowd before a live performance starts — all murmur without being able to really make out the words. But the overarching theme was clear: “Write me! No, write me!”
I scribbled. And then I whined: I know. I know! I want to spend time with you, too. But the life. The adult things. You all know how much time they can take. Work. My life for weeks now, nothing but work. It’s not bad in some respects.
But in some ways it is:
not knowing what day it is
having my back ache from leaning over technical doohickeys all day
not having time to actually do something worth blogging about
missed photo opportunities
being too tired to read the stack of books after reading words on various screens all day
having little energy to work on my own writing, which apparently is getting antsy
So I’m backdating this post (it’s a day late) and I’m working into the night, even though my eyes are struggling to see through the brightness and my fingers are more often hitting the wrong keys. I’m determined to get everything done and get ahead a little so I can really take off this weekend.
I hope I don’t get there and then wonder what I’m supposed to do with myself. Have you ever had the kind of momentum and busyness that keeps you so busy you forget what you used to do before?
Thankfully, I have my Muses whispering — read yelling — in my ears. Of course, they wait until I’m mid-shower and decide to come out at break-neck speed. With my schedule lately, though, I’ve left them little choice.
I just hope when I sit down to spend time with them, they still want to hang out with me. Of course, if they don’t, there’s a stack of books, my camera collecting dust, my car wanting to see sights other than the road to and from the places I’m required to be.
Only 48 hours. It’s a marathon, but I can make it. I see the finish line! More importantly, I see my stories, waiting and wanting to be told. I’m almost there! Wait for me.