I decided to start writing again. Like, 20 minutes ago. Actually, I realized that the 2.25 hours that my daughter will be in Pre-K this fall didn’t quite allow for the working of a day job and if I was going to be home alone for those 2.25 hours, I could finally start writing again.
BUT WHY WAIT, right? Let’s start right now, the me from 20 minutes ago said. I sat down at the computer. I checked that both children were occupied* and I opened an old WIP that had some potential. Here we go, yo. I’m a WRITER again, yeah?!
No. I read a paragraph and a half before my son asked me for “fresh cold ice water” (in case you’re wondering about the PRIVILEGE up in here, it includes filtered water and ice straight from the freezer door). When I sat back down, my daughter called from another room that she wanted “more chippies!” I ignored that and opened up my wordpress blog instead to bitch about it but as soon as I started writing (see asterisk above to know exactly when) my daughter got off her butt, put her chip bowl on my mouse-hand elbow and said, “more chippies pleeeaaaaaaaaaase?” and refused to move until she got her goddamn chippies.
Now my son is reading Roblox dialogue out loud and my daughter is crunching chippies louder than I’ve ever heard a child eat.
So no, I will not be writing today.
For the 657th day in a row.
Because children kill your dreams. And eat your chippies.
Eda J Vor 