I am annoyed by things that prevent me from writing, that keep me from my 750 words per day schedule. None of these are bad things, really: the errands of everyday life, some book deliveries, mundane things. And yet they’ve messed up my schedule this week, and so I’m grumpy.
There are other things making me tetchy, to be fair. I’m still aching a bit from a car accident twelve days ago, one that left me with massive external bruises (from the seatbelt) and internal bruising of my sternum, and it’s this latter that still hurts sometimes. Ibuprofen takes care of the pain, but it upsets my stomach a bit, meaning less coffee and no spicy food for a while. Grrr. (Yes, I know. I walked away with only bruises and the insurance company payout on my write-off car was more than fair. Stop griping, self.)
Next whine….after three months, we still haven’t sold our house. In itself that isn’t a big problem, it’s more that unless we do, our winter plans can’t be finalized. And we want to go back to the same cottage in the same village in England that we always do. And it’s getting close to needing to book it. I counsel patience, but it’s starting to worry me. Plus this house still seems unfinished…our pictures and some furniture remain at the old house, for staging; I miss them. Another grrr, another reminder to my better self: this isn’t a financial burden, so what are you bitching about?
And as usual, I’ve written my way out of my bad mood. What it really comes down to is this: you can be living the life you always wanted to, as I am: my life pretty much revolves around working with the written word, and birding, and not much else, but the ‘not much else’ isn’t ever going to go away: I still have to clean up hairballs, buy groceries, get my hair cut, put the garbage out, clean the toilet. Get over it, self. And get to work!