Today was slated to be a day of housework. Not that I write these chores on a slate. More like an old envelope. A list of jobs to be done before Saturday. The cool weather after the storm. Perfect day for it.
The remains of the plague of Argentinian Scarab Beetles needed to be swept up, the ants trying to move indoors had to be vacuumed as well as the clots of dust and dandelion parasols lying about.
|Ants all over the ceiling. |
They have not accepted the new arrangements yet.
Did I read at breakfast? I don't recall.
I knew I shouldn't sit down in front of the computer because I'd start writing. I folded washing. Vacuumed beetles. Vacuumed ants from overhead. Dusted corners and shifted a set of shelves. Earned myself a cup of coffee.
I knew I shouldn't sit in front of the ... but I did, coffee in hand. I knew I shouldn't start writing so I read everything I have already written of the this novel not-on-the-go. A couple of times admired my own writing, tutted over the need for some serious editing. Lunchtime passed without my notice.
A friend arrived to ask about rain gauges and how to record. I photocopied her a couple of charts. after she'd gone a realised how hungry I was. More sitting down. I started writing the new beginning chapter of the novel not-on-the-go. I don't even have a working title for it yet. Or rather I had one that didn't suit. Wrote. Two thousand words.
Had to stop or miss my walk. Dark coming on. Need for food prep. Eating. Watched a rerun of The Vikings with that haunting music and the impossibly blue-eyed Australian actor as Ragnar Loftbroggen. Emails. This.