Life (or something like it)

I’m worried that this blog is just going to become a list of excuses as to why I’m not writing the best selling novel. Or where I bitch about those little incidents that happen from day to day, that I can never elaborate on because I’m not sure who’s reading this blog.

Wow – even when blogging, creative output can be stifled!

I had a good weekend, but it was a hard weekend – and not just because I agreed to run in an 8 k “marathon” that had hills I was not prepared for! I found that sometimes, even when you want to write, emotionally life just gets in the way. And so does a crazy lady who sells cats for a living (ah – lady, the Simpsons have called and they want their character back!)

Drainer!

Worst still, I had finally decided that Wednesday night was going to be writing night – a splendid comittment where one sits in a cafe for hours, drinks copious amounts of caffeine and just writes - and now I find I will be singing Spring-time for Hitler [whilst not wearing sausages on my head, which is just so disappointing!] 65ks up the Hume instead.

Double Drainer!

This morning, when I went for my daily dose of sunshine in a cup (that would be the first dose, and yes, also my pet name for coffee) I was asked how my mother’s day went. And when I replied that I did not see my mother, came the horrid statement:

- no, not for you mum. For YOU.

Apparently, when you reach a certain age, it is obligatory to have children, just to fit in with society’s assumptions that you do! How inconvenient for her!

Galling. Totally, utterly galling.

Happy mother’s day to all mothers out there – especially my mum, my aunties, my grandmother and my cousins – but society take heed:

I am too busy to procreate. I have to win the Nobel Prize for Literature.

And bake lots of cupcakes!