Of course, the problem with the sort of announcement that I had on the blog yesterday is that it’s a rather hard act to follow. It’s not like I’m going to look out my door and see a posse of photographers or anything. The work doesn’t stop merely because I made it up another rung of the pubbing ladder, and really, I’m only at the first step.
Life does go back to normal – as evidenced by the entire abandonment of anything remotely resembling neatness exploded across my family room last night.
I still had to make dinner. I missed Grey’s Anatomy. (Though the show has pretty much jumped the shark at this point, so I’m not sure that’s any big loss). Connor dumped a bowl of popcorn on the floor. I tripped over a giant stuffed duck and broke a plate. (But come on, a duck? How was I supposed to know it was going to be *RIGHT THERE*?)
Indeed, Lucy seems to have set up some sort of triage of stuffed animals in the hallway. She’s rather insistent about them staying there, but I suspect the clean-up troll is going to come through later tonight and shove them in a closet.
But I got the kids into bed and the dishes cleaned up and then I sat down and started trying to write. Didn’t get too far, but this was a pretty stressful week for me between the weather and the lack of mr myn, so I’m willing to give myself a little bit of a pass. But there’s a niggling at the back of my head, urging me not to give myself *too* much of a pass. Far too easy to slip into lazy habits, or to start making too many excuses as to why the words aren’t finding themselves on the page. I suspect that it’s rather easy to coast on a sudden success, and maybe that works for a while. Eventually the Piper will come calling, though, and I’d much rather have something in place then be stuck scrambling for lost time.
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