After a long bout of seven day working weeks, it would appear that my abused brain and body decided to force me into shutdown mode.
I began house and cat sitting for a friend on Friday. Having a house to myself for five weeks means I have a writing space that does not have to be dismantled at the end of each day, so I excitedly arranged the kitchen table in preparation not only for a long weekend of chapter seven composition, but for five weeks of productivity.
Thwarted Before I Began
Saturday morning, I awoke. I rushed to the bathroom and set the pattern for the rest of my weekend. I spent the long Easter/ANZAC Day weekend rushing between the bed or couch and the ladies powder room developing an intimate relationship with the flushing porcelain item in the corner. I shall say no more.
The same thing happened to me last Easter as well. Hmm? And I was house and cat sitting for Alisya then too! Weird.
So no, there was no productivity, although I am close to feeling cleansed. (Cleansed, but not yet refreshed.)
Now there will just be the stress and guilt associated with the loss of four precious writing days to deal with. For the sake of my productivity, I will try to forget about it. Let’s look on the positive side. After a long stint of seven day working weeks, I must have needed a break to cleanse and refresh.
I think it is fast getting to the stage where I may have to totally withdraw from the world or my Magnificent Octopus/Blasted Thesis will never be finished! Can one survive with no income I wonder?
Whatever happened to those wonderful days when rich people would serve as patrons to artistes enabling said artistes to bum around, I mean, dedicate themselves to their creative endeavours? Sigh. I wish I was a doctoral student about two hundred years ago.
I think it might be time to have another hissy fit and abscond to London.