The kids wrapped their first week of summer vacation and it’s a war zone at our house. The battle line? Mommy wants a schedule. But, according to my kids, a bedtime in summer strikes at the core of democracy. A daily schedule besmirches our founders’ very intent for both the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution. (Yes, I blame my geeky self. They know way too much about governance). My oldest will be home from college soon. Then, the opposing force gains a new weapon; she’s ROTC.
I’ll be outgunned and outmaneuvered. Siblings may fight with each other but they’ll join forces to overthrow parental tyranny in a nanosecond.
This morning I released the hounds (really – they bark every morning at 6:04a, even adjust for daylight savings, until I give in), and trudged upstairs to my office. Coffee in hand (tier one in my daily caffeine protocol), I negotiated the stacks of wannabe creative genius on the floor, plopped in my chair and swiveled to look out the window. Where to start? WIP? Blog? Email? Spider solitaire?
I tapped the nearest stack with my foot to spin and it hit me. (No, not the mess on the floor, another epiphany). Deep down in my freudian soul, my id (you know … base instinct from Freud’s psychic apparatus … another blog, another time) established a defensible perimeter. Take a look:
Interior perimeter – a circle of half-empty brief cases and book bags, calendars, reference books and plotting folders.
We have no choice. Protect your writing time. RWA national is twelve days away (less if you count packing time and the days of travel to fly from west to east in our transportation system, but I digress). My only hope is to fall back and secure my perimeter until I can surrender in Manhattan . . . to a $20 glass of slightly fermented grape juice.
Advice? Barrier ideas? War stories?