Contrast me. I get a couple of ideas to congeal, throw some laundry in the washer, take my single story I've written in two months to the post office, get Zane to and from school, send Innes off to preschool with James, tend to Felix's needs, make dinner, and remember to put the wet clothes in the dryer, and that, my friends, is what I call a good and productive day. Can I get a witness?
Okay, and I usually read for a while, most days. But still. Getting that much done takes up more head space than I would ordinarily care to admit, and there you have my reasons for not posting so much lately:
1. Repetitive days
2. Absorption in story-space that mostly precludes blog-enablement.*
::switches to second person, present::
You feel a strong urge to remind the impatient mother that she's a mom, after all, and she gets plenty of other work done, considering all of those mom-ly duties she does all the time. The words are pushing out of your fingertips and through the keyboard as you think, hey, she probably knows that already!--so instead you go a different way, and comment with a wacky story or a non-sequitur designed to entertain, or...?
* Which I declare to be a real and valid word.