I had a breakdown the other night. (Isn’t that a great way to start a post?) I’m not crazy, well, not terribly anyway. The breakdown was nothing serious, nothing where you have to go pull out the straight jacket; not that you have one but if you do you can keep it hidden in your trunk…for now.
No, it was your everyday breakdown that I’m sure every mom has once in awhile, or once a week if you’re me. It started because I woke in the morning to the dogs going through the trash that was topped off with dirty diapers and ended at night with the kids taking the crib apart. Tuesday was a wonderful day to be me, seriously, you should be jealous.
When my ever so sweet, caring and supportive husband sat me down two nights ago to talk about what has me so stressed I almost blew a gasket. What doesn’t have me stressed nowadays? Before I started writing my days revolved around the kids, changing diapers, walking to the park, changing more diapers, changing my clothes because someone spit up on me, reading bed time stories so on and so forth. Now with writing its like I’ve added another child to our growing brood.
Sparky genuinely tried to help me organize my days. That was, is, and probably always will be a problem. Trying to balance the life of a wife, mother and now a writer is very, very difficult. I’m always putting off something to do something else. I can’t read my oldest her favorite book for the 30th time because the baby’s diaper needs to be changed, the dogs need to be fed and I forgot to put pants on this morning and that should be corrected before we leave the house. (It happened yesterday morning. Don’t judge.)
Sparky and I went over the days and times when writing seems to be the easiest for me and the less guilt inducing. After we had a nice little schedule set I looked up at him with love in my eyes and said “It’ll never work.” He looked deflated, crushed and really confused.
It won’t work because all of those times that we set aside for me to write I’ll be sitting at my dining room table. Why there? Because that’s my desk. Amongst the used tissues, the naked Barbie dolls, and dried on oatmeal lies my computer, notebooks and books on writing. Albeit I have a comfy chair, but really that only goes so far.
Some days the world can fall down around me and I can write without batting an eye lash. Others it can be quiet as a church mouse and out of the corner of my eye I’ll see a dust bunny and feel the need to clean the entire house. I need an office, but since that isn’t in the cards now, or anytime soon, what I need is to get out of the house.
I proposed a question to Twitter two nights ago asking of places outside the home where I could go to write. I got the usuals, Barnes & Noble, coffee shops, libraries to the not so usual, the neighborhood McDonald’s.
Where do you go if you want to write outside your home? Do you find that you get more distracted by being amongst other people? Or do you find you get more work done because you’re not at home where the mundane tasks of homeownership guilt you into reseeding the lawn?