Good Ways to Occupy Myself
Recycling newspapers without looking at them. For all the times I’ve torn an article out, have I ever used it?
Picking tomatoes in the garden.
Evicting moths. Especially the couple who landed on the counter in front of me mid-coitis. That’s not good for any of us.
Going to a reading. Which I hope to post about. Maybe next week.
Having supper with friends.
Arranging the spice jars so it’s less of a memory trick. (Let’s see, the blue magic markered lid that says coriander, I know to be fine herb, or is it the black magic marker that says Indian spice that is. No, that’s cumin.)
Contemplating whether seeing a silverfish is a gift from the universe of teeny tiny beauty, or a sign that torching the building is in order.
Making submissions go out into the world, far far away and hopefully not come back except with a yes. Unless they miss me. Then they can come home.
Clearing the desk onto another bookcase. Moving the desks so the office still functions with one more bookcase. (With heavy lifting done by hubby and my being in directorial role.)
Email tagging when it works.
Less Amusing Ways to Occupy Myself
Playing email tag when it doesn’t work.
Trying (think Pooh think) to remember the site password to train my memory and instead locking myself out. Again.
Using the floor as a wood/paper/pillow/what-is-that slalom and in the process trip and reach to prevent myself from landing head on desk, body on boxes, by grabbing to support myself with the you-guessed-it arm. Wowser, ball of nausea.
Maybe I should move the silverfish here. Or maybe it scooted over here by itself already.
Poem wrestling. Did the contract not say the poem was not to bring any weapons. Fist to fist alone. Poems breaks their own rules. And sometimes they break the poets. But mind wins over printed matter, usually. (Is there a CanLit bookie? There should be.)
Quote: “Stop wearing your wishbone where your backbone ought to be.” ~ Elizabeth Gilbert, American author