I have two stories I need to submit and—this always, always happens—the idea of working on them gets me all scrunched up inside. It's like when someone you know is quickly walking towards you for an embrace and you cannot recall their name or how you know them so you feign a glance at your watch, turn around, and run. Lately I've been letting myself off the hook by pretending that this avoidance is part of my "process." Which is not only obnoxious; it's total bullshit.
Anyways, tonight I wrestled all three kids down by 8:45 and, because the spousal unit is away on business, was left entirely to my own devices. I should work on that story thought I. I then proceeded to check everyone's blog, balance my checkbook, IM with my brother, watch MTV, read a few pages from about 5 different books, browse the iTunes store, download a widget, and rub a coat of mineral oil over every square centimeter of our just-installed soapstone counters.
And then I blogged, of course.