Working, exercising, doing taxes, hiking, eating, doing laundry, showering, picking out clothes for work, catching the train, checking email, explaining to the cat why it is too late to go out, going to the doctor, getting a haircut, looking up the weather report, looking up the latest delegate count in the primaries, cooking breakfast, going to the ATM, packing lunches, refilling prescriptions, sending cards, reading, making lists, crossing things off lists.
This is how I've been
spending my time. Also writing, somehow fitting writing in there. There
is never enough time, there will never be enough time, there will never
be a lack of other things to do. I fantasize about having long
clutter-free days in which to write, but in the meantime I write when I
can and the words pile up somehow. And all that living feeds the writing
too, and lines of writing come to me while I am doing other things.
There will never be a perfect time. Or maybe this is the perfect time.