Time Spent

Night Llamas. Comprendes?

Roaming the house looking for my reading glasses when on top of head entire time: a good 15 minutes (additional minutes tacked on when distracted by each room’s white elephant: mound of clean yet hopelessly wrinkled laundry on guest room bed, the way the dining room table has become a disorganized desk, the half eaten cereal bar on top of the printer, dust bunnies in that one corner of the bathroom…).

In search of my cell phone after promising myself I would never need to go in search of it again: 10 agonizing minutes (during which husband is emailed to please call so cell phone will announce its location—he calls—after I’ve found it—in my Ugg boot behind the chair piled in rough drafts of my children’s novel, the top page of which has been shredded by kitty claws).

Time spent ransacking kitchen drawers and cupboards for the bread machine blade/dough kneading gadget even though not making bread until weekend: 7 agonizing minutes (husband put it away, so…)

Time spent fuming about that one thing that one ex-boyfriend said twenty years ago that still chaps my hide—until I catch myself fuming and take deep breaths, focusing on LETTING GO OF THE PAST and FORGIVENESSSSSSS: really only a few (progress!).

Time spent staring out living room windows at struggling yard imagining new decking, Mexican-red umbrellas, voluminous bougainvilla hiding unfortunate paint job of back wall, shiny silver BBQ number with exciting extra burners, patio table set in beading pitchers of margaritas and desert rose patterned trays filled with savory tapas, twinkle lights twinkling from eaves, smily visitors lounging, laughter and fun as I don a fashionable sombrero, wave gaily at my son trotting the llama around the lawn and signal the mariachi band to begin their set: too numerous to count.

Time spent revising children’s novel: 2 hours (at patio table covered in pine needles from latest windstorm and set in plastic tumbler filled with  protein drink, a pile of remote control toys that need new batteries and a struggling potted lavender plant).

Number of minutes spent procrastinating, fuming about past or daydreaming during 2 hours of revision time: none.

Ahhhh. There we go, PB. Bliss. Just get there a little faster. And maybe dispose of that cereal bar.

About PB Rippey

Writer, wife, mother, grateful. Fiction, memoir, poetry, kidlit (MG), member SCBWI. pbwrites.wordpress.com
This entry was posted in Avoiding My Writing, Children's Books, Fiction, middle grade, Pets, To Explain, Writer's Angst, Writing, Writing Progress, WTF and tagged , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to Time Spent

  1. Such an accurate analysis! Love the llama pix ( so not a fan of pine needles) Enjoyed the read

  2. Miss B. says:

    Dude!! Two hours with pine needles drink and assorted mental and physical ephemera??? You are rock star writer. No doubt.

  3. Beth Hull says:

    I got so completely involved in the margaritas-in-the-backyard scenario I forgot what I was reading!
    One of these days, right? I’ll bring the sombreros.

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