So it’s January 10. I’m still not in the work groove.
Not for lack of intending to. I wish I could say I’ve been trying.
That’s true, sort of.
This should be me:
Instead, this is me:
Today I had great intentions. I took care of email and random minor tasks. Nine am, I’m ready to go.
Phone rings.
Can’t ignore it. My dad is calling.
It wasn’t kind of conversation you want to have with a parent. This one was about how do we shift control of his finances to someone else. He’s losing his sight and his memory and doesn’t think he can do it much longer.
Facts that conjure up pictures in my mind of what else he won’t be able to do in the near future. Not pretty pictures at all.
We get off the phone and I spend half an hour writing out some questions for his lawyer.
Then I spend the next hour and a half cleaning my house. Now it’s time for a shower and lunch.
Half the day is gone and I haven’t written anything.
Some distractions are real and can’t be ignored. Others need to be shoved to the side.
I answer them one by one. Do I need a snack? No. Some tea? No. Is the mail here? It can wait.
Distractions deflected, here I sit, butt in the chair, fingers on the keyboard. Only one thing to do.
Write.