Sunday morning (sort of)

I'ts 9:11a.m. That's the new time, so it doesn't quite feel like the morning to me. I think, "Oh boy, I've got an extra hour."

So, instead of getting myself straight to my meditation cushion, I get on line, watch McCain on Saturday Night Live, read various posts about Joe the Plumber having a history of physically abusing women, decide to write a blog post, still haven't meditated, chew my nicotine gum too quickly. . .

In other words, as the old-timers would say, I'm hopped up.

I received invites for "write-ins" and can't imagine attending any of them (and I won't). I can't write fiction with other people around. Yesterday, when I started writing the "novel", I told Dick, at 1:48p.m., "At two o'clock I'm starting writing and you can not talk to me for two hours."

We live in a fairly large house. It was quiet, which is the way I need it when I'm writing ('cept for blog posts and e-mail). At some point, Dick must've watched a YouTube video or something. I could not concentrate. I remembered that there were earplugs in the bedroom, but that would mean I'd have to get up from my seat, and move away from the computer. I couldn't do it - it would break the spell. For two hours, I was completely immersed in my character and the imaginary community in which she lives. My main character, at present, doesn't have the liberty to move around much or get what she needs when she wants it, so I don't either.

So,I grabbed some earbuds, jammed them into my poor ears, pulled my hoodie over my head, and then further sequestered myself within a tent of a blanket. This didn't work entirely. I still could hear the sounds of whatever Dick was listening to, and I thought, "tomorrow - I'm using earplugs!"

Now, today is tomorrow, and I'm wondering about some pretty dumb things like whether or not I'm cooking dinner tonight and if so, can I cheat and use yesterday's leftovers. I'm also freaking out just a bit, for the election is in two days! I also wonder what the heck I'm doing sitting here blogging instead of meditating and worried that I'm going to have a hard time not thinking about my plot when I do get myself on that cushion.

I am also still thinking "I'm not a writer!" So what - I am having fun. If writing this so-called novel doesn't get in the way of living life, it doesn't matter what it's for or whether it's good. If it stops being fun, I'll stop (perhaps).

On a far more serious note, Dick just showed me a video on YouTube that I suggest you watch. Thought San Francisco was a nice place? Not if you're homeless.

Image note: Anonymous 15th Century Chinese book illustrationMonkey mind. I've got it bad today.

NaNoWriMo Update: 2014 words today. 5976 total. And still having fun!