Linking up with Lisa-Jo, The Gypsy Mama, this morning, who says:
Around here we write for five minutes flat on Fridays.
We write because we want to, not because we have to. We write for fun, for joy, for discovery.
We just write without worrying if it’s just write or not.
This has been my first week in a year of not getting up early, getting dressed, packing lunch, kissing boy, driving an hour and working at a “real” job. The one where I walked into an office building and turned on a computer and answered the phone and the email and the urgent requests. The one that made me feel important at times, and validated, and all that external stuff.
This week, I spent my days at home. I wore the same clothes two days in a row. My shirt had yogurt on it, and I stepped in spilled water, multiple times a day.
But I played, and I laughed, and I danced, and I kissed. And I wiped up spills, and I responded to tantrums, and I changed wet pants.
And I was more tired than at the end of those other long days – but different tired. Good tired. Happy tired.
And this job? This is life. This is real.