Observing the little snippets around me is essential to both my sanity and creativity. Right now, as I write this, my keyboard is squashed in between my diary, numerous pens, a pile of travel magazines (work, not pleasure), a measuring tape, a glass of water, two notebooks and the foil wrapping from mint dark chocolate squares (it was a late one last night). Daniel has placed a big piece of yellow tape down the middle of our shared trestle table/desk - my ephemera is not allowed to wander into his territory. In a comic I would be depicted as a lonesome writer with glasses, hovering over the keyboard, tapping as I type, looking very much like a collector to some, a hoarder to most. What's most comical about this picture is that I can't stand mess or clutter. But right now, as I tread my way through the endless tasks I ignore the mess and just write.
It's quite liberating to accept that full-time work and a perfect household don't coexist. Balance, in this regard, is not possible. But next week, when the deadlines have been met and there's space to be, I'll spend a few days doing things around the home. The words will be waiting but the beds will be made.
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