For the first time in a few years, my husband is required to work Sundays during the Christmas season (a.k.a. peak season at his work). My son is upstairs with his Kindle Fire, having some Quiet Time, and I’m sitting on the couch, having just finished today’s (and yesterday’s) #fiveminutefreewrite topics.
I feel like I want to keep writing, but not about any of the backlogged blog topics I have on my list. (And I have dozens.)
I’m reminded of the days before I had a child, when I had hours upon hours of “me” time, and I would choose to use it by writing. (Or playing Civilization for a few hours on end.)
There’s plenty of other things I could be doing right now (my fingers just tried to type “write now”), like replacing the few burnt-out bulbs on the string of vintage Christmas lights, or making a batch of Christmas cookies to freeze for later, or finishing the laundry, or balancing my checkbook… but sitting here on the couch writing about nothing in the silent overcast wintry afternoon dimness is appealing.
It’s so quiet in here.
I should really get that laundry folded.