Do you ever get it where you feel so ready to write something, so in need of getting some words, any words, down on the page or screen that it’s like you’ve got ants in your pants? Today is one of those days, but it’s as though, when the need to write gets so strong, I lose focus and suddenly, if I have a window of time to get something written, there are too many ideas and not enough, all at the same time.
It’s a bit like when Tibbons is out for an hour or two and I’m at home – a rare occurrence and one that affords me the opportunity to get things done in half the time they would take if I was also looking after Tibbons. I’m like a moth, excitedly flapping around a flame – there’s so much I want to do that I don’t know where to start – my ambitions are too great – I’ll read, write letters, write a column, write a blog post, clean the kitchen, hoover, tidy, put the washing away, oh and I’ll sort all that admin that needs doing too. Or at least, that’s what I tell myself: I’m quick, but I’m not that quick.
And so, when I sit down to read, I can’t conjure the right conditions – any air of relaxation is penetrated by the almost literal vibration of my need and desire to be doing a million and one things so that I can feel like I’ve really made the most of that time to myself, that opportunity to catch up. As I write this I have a “to do” list sat next to me – I’ve numbered it: 13 unlucky items I want to get done while Tibbons is out with his grandparents and so far I’ve crossed off four.
What should really feature on the list? Chill? Get stuff done, but in a slow and relatively laid back manner? Go with the flow? I’m tying myself up in knots here people, but at least I’ve got a blog post out of it – make that five things I’ve crossed off the list