Winning at Writing, Failing at Functioning-like-a-Real-Person (Or, I Make a Really, Really Bad Housekeeper)

I persist in thinking that I'm going to accomplish a lot every morning when I wake up, even though my body persists in thwarting my endeavors each day. For instance, yesterday I assumed that I was going to tackle the bags and bags of "give away" clothes that are piled in our basement, and finally separate the girls clothes and put them away for future use (because we found out on Tuesday that we're having a little girl in March -- much to The Boy's chagrin and Little Miss Talkalot's ecstatic, shrieking joy). However, after spending the morning vacuuming up about four lbs of dog hair from the first floor alone, and then attending Little Miss Talkalot's last soccer game of the season, followed by a victory lunch at McDonald's (a rare treat from Mommy) and a quick trip to the grocery store, I was completely, utterly wrecked. Done. I had not one ounce of energy left in me. So when The Boy went for his nap, so did I -- and The Girl quietly and happily vegged in front of the TV while the rest of the house's occupants -- dogs included - snoozed. 

This morning I feel like I have a good deal of energy, much like I did yesterday morning -- so I kind of fear for the afternoon's productivity. I managed to write a good deal before the kids were up, so I began the day by finishing one of the monologues I'd begun as a result of the November Poem-a-Day Chapbook challenge. I've only begun three of them, and finished two, but I've been writing steadily over the past two weeks -- not every day, and I haven't attempted every prompt, but I've been more or less consistent and focused. I'm pleased with my productivity. At this rate, I might actually have some things to give to A.P. when we resume our Writing Mondays in the spring semester!

Writing these monologues is working well, I think. I'm becoming more immersed in the idea of the verse play, and thinking about ways in which it might unfold, and ways in which it might look on a stage vs. how it looks on the page. I've been thinking about it as a book, as a script, as a collection of poems . . . which is all to say that I've been thinking about it, a lot, and that I find myself becoming excited again about this project. I feel like my "rest time" after finishing Fabulous Beast is coming to an end, but slowly. I don't feel rushed, and I don't feel the need to impose any kind of goals or deadlines on myself. I'm enjoying this gradual return to writing, this exploration and meditation. It's different than the sabbatical, far less charged than the sabbatical, but no less important to me. Also, it wouldn't have been possible without the sabbatical, I'm sure. I needed to go through all of that in order to find myself here.

So . . . I've been, I'm being, productive in one area of my life, but I'm failing miserably at the housework and my grading. There is more laundry to be done (there is always laundry to be done), papers to sort through, papers to grade, clothes and toys to put away, clothes and toys to give away, and meals to make and serve. Also, I promised the kids I'd take them to a movie today. 

Welp, let me try to get the kids bathed, at least, and ready for the movie, and then I suppose I'll take it from there.

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