I’m sitting here at my desk, finding all kinds of reasons to not work, with the window shade open so I can watch the kids play outside. The super-nice lady across the street spent the better part of the morning trying to roller blade in the court with her kids (kudos to her for wanting to learn to roller blade with all these kids just zipping around like falling is all part of the fun) and most of the smaller neighborhood kids are outside, either watching or pretending to skate, too. They’ve been having a blast all morning—which is probably why I’m procrastinating. I think I’d rather be outside—it’s beautiful out there today—than inside trying to write.
A little while ago a cop car (specifically, a military security police car) came slowly down the street, and stopped in the court to talk to the kid; he got out, let them look in the car, turned the lights on for them, and showed them all his cop toys. That was pretty cool… all he had to do was turn around at the bottom of the court and go on, but he made those kids’ day. Well, their morning at least.
Even the neighborhood squirrel is out there, perched on the feeder we nailed to the tree outside my window. He’s making quite the pig of himself, tearing into the corn cob, scattering bits and pieces of uneaten dried corn all over the place—and the birds are in the yard, waiting until he leaves so they can swoop in and clean up his mess.
If they didn’t poop all over my car, it’d be an ideal arrangement.
Once the kids were done skating, the neighborhood moms poured out of their houses and are congregating on a lawn; I’m the odd mom out here. Literally, we are the only couple on this street who don’t have a kid living with them. Most of the families on our street have small children, and we don’t really have much in common with them. So, when the moms come out to have a cup of coffee and talk, I stay inside. Aside from being pretty damned shy, I’ve never felt particularly welcome. Don’t get me wrong, these are all very nice people, it’s just hard to include someone who’s not in the same place you are. Everything they’re going through, I’ve already done. And for the most part, people don’t want to hear about it when it’s done; they want to commiserate about what they’re already going through.
So, I sit in here and work (or avoid it) and watch the kids play. And the squirrel and birds. And in a little while, I’ll stop avoiding working altogether, get my stuff together, and go to the Y to swim for an hour or so. Once I come home, I’ll find a few other things to use to avoid working, but sooner or later I’ll sit down and get something done. Cripes, I need to. I’m about 80% done with the manuscript I’m working on, and I really want to finish.
Then when I’m done, I can work hard at avoiding editing it :)