The past three days have seen major hassles in my personal life. I'm always being torn apart it seems. One pulling on me this way and another pulling on me that way. There's only so much of me to go around, and I always feel like screaming: "GROW UP! GET A LIFE WHY DON'T YA!"
But no, it seems nothing can happen, move forward, unless I'm somehow involved. I'm the go to person in all things at my house, and it's got to stop. Being shoved from my writing zone a hundred or more times a day is driving me insane to say the least. I can't get anything accomplished.
This morning I put on the coffee and while it was doing its thing, I opened the fridge to grab an English muffin to toast with some cheese. I spied a can of Diet Coke and since I was thirsty, popped the tab and guzzled some down. After the muffin was placed in the toaster oven topped with cheese, I leaned against the counter and watched the coffee drip drip drip into the carafe.
As I was observing this painfully slow process, I pondered all the unforgivable interruptions in my life--yes, unforgivable because my family shows zero respect for me and what I want to do. My writing does not count and fits on the importance scale, to them at least, somewhere below the location of their favorite pair of socks. Who the hell has a favorite pair of socks anyway?
Yeah, I'm mad. Damn mad. Five hundred words in two weeks time. Wouldn't you be mad? Could someone please tell me how to get my family under control and make them understand that writing is important to me, and I'm going to do this even if they DON'T like it? I tell them that all the time, but it doesn't work worth a damn.
There's a bottle of whiskey on the counter--leftover from the weekend. I had two shots and crawled into bed Saturday night. I'm so sorely tempted to make myself an Irish Coffee this morning. Hmmm...I do have whipped cream. And it's the LITE kind too. No guilt. God, they're driving me to drink!