For the sake of brevity, let’s shorten What I Did When I Wasn’t Writing to WIDWIWW from now on. By the way, my all-time favorite acronym is IITYWYHM: If I tell you, will you hug me?
April 20th, 2016:
The day started off promisingly enough–I did my yoga practice in the morning, which required that I get up a full 35 minutes before getting dressed and ready for work. Then, after work, I scrounged up some leftovers and fruit from the fridge to eat while I had my weekly FaceTime date with my parents. I called them 15 minutes earlier than usual in hopes that the call might end approximately 15 minutes earlier than usual. It did not. And after we hung up, I decided the dishes in the kitchen sink needed doing. And that in order to do them, I required beer (as well as my dish-washing gloves, but I always need those because I have texture issues and dishes are bad enough without adding vomit into the equation) and Melanie Martinez on Spotify. Once the dishes were done I declared that my motivation bar was at about -22 as I packed the necessities for an overnight stay at the boyfriend’s. I then managed to spit out one hundred and fifty words (words that I ended up cutting and pasting into a separate word document far away from my precious WIP).
April 21st, 2016:
You’d think a girl would learn. Two poor word count days in a row. But, admittedly, this time I didn’t even try. Again the day started out promising: I got to wake up next to my boyfriend, go on a field trip with the kindergarten prep kids to the Seattle Central Library, and there was even a fucking taco bar for lunch! I also got approximately seven compliments on my Cats on Saturn dress, which makes me feel like Jessica fucking Day every time I wear it. My last job made me feel like Betty Draper at best.
I finished my work day with infants, where I witnessed my first baby blowout. And about an hour later, I witnessed my second baby blowout; I’d just changed the little guy’s diaper about half an hour before and he was now comfortably in my lap drinking up his bottle. I repeat: he was now comfortably in my lap. Luckily, my dress wasn’t a casualty, but I still couldn’t help thinking about how I didn’t pack a change of clothes (like we early education teachers are advised to do just in case) and would’ve had to ride home that way on public transit. Granted, I probably wouldn’t have been the worst smelling person onboard.
By the time I got home (my bus was late!) I had a headache and just enough time to feed my cat and grab something to eat myself before therapy. But then Sawyer ate his cat food entirely too fast. I know this because he then jumped up on my bed immediately after and puked on my blanket, which I had no way in hell of laundering because I was out of quarters and time. So I caught a bus to my therapy appointment (with five minutes to spare!). My therapist’s office is conveniently located next to Walgreens, where I used my five spare minutes to buy two bags of Haribo gummy bears and a chocolate bar.
Fortunately, therapy redeemed at least some of my day: when I got home, I did my yoga practice for the day (it helped that it was a shorter practice: 21 minutes) and made a healthy, nutritious dinner. Then I dumped the healthy, nutritious dinner into a Tupperware container, put it in the fridge, made enough mashed potatoes for four people, drenched them in Ranch dressing, and ate them with my fingers in front of the TV (Netflix, The Secret Life of the American Teenager) followed by an entire bag of gummy bears.
And I still call myself a writer.