Nowhere (wo)man

Inert.

Yep, that's how I feel, doc.

Why, exactly?

I don't know. A whole lot of reasons! My house is never clean. I hate running errands, so if I don't go somewhere straight after dropping the kids at school, it's a no go. There is always so much to do at home. And I'm trying - repeat, trying - to be a writer, but I don't even feel like writing anymore. AT ALL. Not since Christmas, really. Oh, and I read too much.

Read too much? Interesting. Not sure I've heard that before.

Well, you should have. It can really derail a person's life, their goals and so on.

How, exactly?

What is it with you and that word exactly? I mean is anything in life exactly anything? It's all one great muddle, puddle, fuddle, duddle....wait, that's Dr. Seuss. I think I need to lie down; I'm getting confused.

That's why I have the couch. But let's get back to that reading thing. You don't feel you're improving your mind? Are you reading celebrity gossip magazines, pulp fiction or steamy romances?

Oh, brother! No way. I'm reading G.K. Chesterton, and no offense, but the guy rambles some, you know? Brilliant but you have to be kind of dogged to follow him around sometimes. And a book of Josemaria Escriva's homilies, always beautiful. And I read a book written by a blogging friend, Jennie, who I really admire - great memoir! And my dad's awesome book A Storm Upon the Plain. And a few, very few, posts by bloggers I like....you know, come to think of it, everyone I know is writing 'cept me. Oh, brother.

Well, why aren't you writing?

Huh.

Do you know why you're not writing?

Well, let's see, because the little leprechaun in my head is dancing on all the wrong buttons? No, no. I'm sorry. That's a joke.

So?

Uh, well...I guess because I'm tired. And because my house is really a mess. And the Olympics are on. That's not a good one, but it's true. But, hey, the only thing I watch usually is kids' programming on PBS with my little guy.

You know, I think I would just give up this whole writing thing and try, just try, for once in my child-blessed life to have a clean - I mean a spotlessly clean - abode. My whole life would be easier. I stink at blogging, anyway. Let's face it. I can write, but I fail at every other aspect of the game - design, social media, marketing, building community. But if I didn't give a dang about being a writer now, abandoned ship, theoretically I'd have more time with my kids, playing games and such, and I'd spend a heck of a lot more time in battle with the insane clutter and stickiness and dustiness and gunkiness of my house. I really believe, doctor, that there are people out there doing it all and still looking pretty! I mean how are they doing it? Giving up on sleep? Ignoring their kids? Hiring a housekeeper? I'm doing none of it well myself, and I look like 10 years my senior!! It drives me batty knowing other people are breezing along with some magic formula!

Pauses, and then face falls.

I just realized I haven't been writing for a good while, and my house still looks like a junkyard. Damn. Do you see what I mean about this inertia business? I'm getting nowhere, man!

Let's meet again tomorrow to work out your own special magic formula.

Oh, brother!