Today, I asked Mark to take the children somewhere far away. He did, and I realized it was probably the second time since we moved in that I have been alone in the house.
It's a strange feeling. I can hear the fridge and the computer humming. I can eat lunch and no one demands to eat whatever I'm having. I can sit down on the couch or in the computer chair, and no one wants to get on my lap. I can read my book and no child wants me to read to him. I can watch TV without worrying about what corrupting effect it might have on their innocent little minds. I can write if I want to!
Now, I often spend some daydreaming time wishing I had more time to write. I've read disgusting stories about novelists who produce their entire first drafts in six weeks. Oh, yes, I could do that, too, I think, if I had unlimited time and less demanding children. If I worked on my as-yet-untitled novel for five hours every day, you can bet I'd be zipping along on page 197 or so by now. I could even do some freelance magazine work. It's just those kids who need so much attention that keep me from doing anything productive.
While being physically alone in the house is rare, I do occasionally get a break. When Kyle naps, Liam knows that he must not disturb me if he wishes to avoid personal injury. But as soon as I sit down in front of the computer,my brain fills up with dread. Maybe I'll just check my email first. If only I had a laptop, I'd be so much more prolific. Maybe I'll think about that for awhile. Maybe I'll rest my eyes for a minute. Maybe I'll check the election results. I need to get in the writing mode first. Surely I don't need to write for a whole hour. Maybe if I can just get one page of writing done today, then that will be enough of an accomplishment for now. Or maybe I can skip it today since I'm so tired, and then tomorrow I can write an extra page to make up for it.
Darn kids. They've prevented many an aspiring writer from making it big. Where are they, anyway? I hope they come home soon.