Writing, the end of a clean house.


I make my way to the kitchen most mornings with full intent on getting some housework done during the day.  Will coffee in my hand, I head to my little office with tunnel vision, as that way I do not see the dusty furniture or the dust bunnies skittering out of my way on the tile flooring.

We ate leftovers last night so I did manage to get the dinner mess completely cleaned up but the utensil rack from the dishwasher is still on the counter waiting to be emptied.

I did manage to get a load of laundry done yesterday that had been calling my name for days. I also took a break from writing to make a trip to the grocery store. Those two things irritated me to no ends, as I had planned on writing most of the day. I have decided that writers do not live in tidy homes, unless they are a best-selling, famous writer, that can afford assistants and maids.

My L shaped desk is a mess with two computers, stacks of papers to be filed, post-a-notes stuck to everything, my handy dictionary, cameras, various office equipment, supplies, and my trusty coffee cup. Every room in the house if layered with a fine coat of Arizona dust, dust bunnies are traveling in small herds, the laundry basket is always full, the bed needs made, the kitchen table needs cleaned off, and so do the counters.

Dealing with all of this is hard for a former Better House Keeping/Mrs. Clean woman. It absolutely, drives me crazy. However, I’m learning to deal. I’ll clean the place up once my next book has been published and gone live.

I wonder how deep the dust will be in October?


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