I’ve made up my mind that I’m going to Cape Cod for my birthday. I need to get away from everything for a while and the only place I know where I feel truly calm is near the water. I’ve not decided where on the cape I’ll be going, but I know that in September, I’ll be in the land of the “ahs.”
Every month or so, I come to a point where I’m driven to do something I hadn’t wanted to do and the rush I get from it is purely exhilarating. Sometimes, it can be related to writing since that is what drove me to start posting and thus writing every day starting last November, but other times it can be something as simple as cleaning up the house or weeding or something that’s just been nagging me. Yesterday, it was my darn kitchen.
I don’t cook, but somehow all these dishes manage to pile up over weeks and often months and since I don’t cook, I never feel the need to do anything about them. Each time I pass the pile, however, I grow a little more sullen because the pile has grown to gargantuan heights that I’ll never be able to overcome, but yesterday I did. I fell asleep on the sofa without doing anything else last night, but at the very least, I tackled the pile.
With that done, I’m moved to do more; maybe really complete all my laundry in one day like I’ve been wanting to do all year; maybe attack those six-foot weeds on my patio; maybe detail my car; maybe even complete and entire chapter in a weekend. Who knows?
I wrote 524 words last night (whatever the hell she wants all the time is beyond me) and have the urge to pelt out another 2 or even 3K words throughout all of Saturday. Or perhaps, I’ll just finish the rest of the dish pile while I’ve still got the drive.