Yesterday and today have been the first days in a looooooong while where I haven’t had to do anything. There’s no rehearsal, no performance, no kids activities, no nothing. Which left me feeling a little weird because I felt like there was something I was forgetting. Something that needed to get done that wasn’t getting done. Something that someone, somewhere would yell at me for not finishing.
There aren’t even crickets chirping. It’s like a strange vacuum of time and space.
There is writing to work on and I’m thrilled to actually have the time to do it. And, look!, blogging.
The amount of quiet, the sheer quantity of ‘nothing to do’ is making me a little paranoid.
*looks over shoulder*
Nope. I haven’t forgotten anything.
*looks to the left, looks to the right*
The children are definitely behaving and not putting undue demands on my time at the moment. (Did something get put in their food?)
*peers under the bed*
I guess I could clean….
Ha! Who am I kidding? That ain’t gonna happen.
*checks the yard, down the street, the roof*
Still no crickets chirping. I hope they’re not planning anything. Because I’m gonna go write.
I don't have stuff to do? nothing space Writing
Jenny writes dark fiction that her mother hates. Her stories and essays have appeared in Across the Margin, Pantheon, Shimmer, Black Denim Lit, Skive, and others. When she’s not writing her own stuff, she’s reading mysteries for Criminal Element. When she’s not writing fiction or reviews, she’s writing/directing/performing/designing plays at Springs Ensemble Theatre.