Another night with Michael Bublé, my scrumptious pasta sauce, and red wine. Not the full-bodied wine I prefer, but at least it’s red. And not Michael Bublé in the flesh, but still it is his latest CD. And the pasta sauce – my homemade sauce with the sliced black olives, lean ground beef, mushrooms − is from the freezer. Still and all, a great evening.
I lick the wine residue from my lips, watch my husband walk up the hall to the bedroom, and then I turn on the computer. Time to write my blog. Have fun, he said, as he nuzzled my cheek. Uh huh, I answered, unconvincingly.
As always when I turn on my computer, especially on a Sunday night after a particularly busy weekend, I look at my emails. Too many for me to start reading. I check out facebook. I look at the fifty or so pics my friends posted of their weekend trip and yawn. Not that the pics are boring – au contraire – but it’s been such a wonderfully relaxing evening that I am too...relaxed...to write.
I turn off the computer. My blog will wait until morning.
Five a. m. and I’m wide-awake. While the coffee is brewing, I throw on the load of laundry that I intended to do the evening before – right about the time Michael started crooning. Then, settled next to the window in the living room – not the office where I should be – I breathe in the intoxicating aroma of the rich Italian roast before taking my first sip. Ahhhh. I turn on my laptop. Again, the emails. I deal with them first. There are a lot of them. Some with links that I will check out later. Now for the blog. Oops, time for another load of laundry.
The dog, not quite ready to start her day, has joined me in the living room to continue her sleep. On the couch. I don’t say anything. If I shoo her off the couch, she’ll need to go out. Then she’ll want her breakfast. Logical deductions. There is no time. It’s 6:30 and I haven’t started the blog yet.
My fingers are poised over the keyboard. This is Monday. Not only the first day of the week, but also the first day of the rest of my life. I`ll send out a couple of stories to ... somewhere, and get started on the best − most suspenseful − short story I’ve ever written. Maybe I’ll have a draft ready for the fiction group on Wednesday.
Here comes the cat. Tiki normally sleeps on the satellite receiver. Now she is trying to lie across my laptop. I give her a little affection before pushing her away. Oh no, now the dog is shifting and snorting. I’ll soon have to let her out. Feed her, too.
I think the dryer has stopped. I’ll check. While I’m at it, maybe I’ll make another cup of coffee, chop, dice, and sauté a new batch of spaghetti sauce, run the vacuum over the floors, and look out the front door to make sure the birds aren’t building another nest in the light fixture.
Oh, wait! Don’t go! I’m not finished ... I haven’t started ... my blog ... wait...