Over unsweetened tea, in my stolen hour with Fiddlin' Writer, (stolen while the Sons are at tae kwon do) we discussed, among other things (our discussions lean towards the rambling and cool) the challenge of maintaining a creative train of thought, while home with children.
FW misses the dialogs she used to hear in her head, before she was listening to the dialogs swirling around her kitchen. And I, well, I have a narrative that starts, and starts, and starts, and can't get past the beginning in time to turn it into anything more. It's kinda like this (with apologies to DuMaurier)
Last night I dreamt I was at Manderley again.
Blink 182 is the best band ever!
Last night I dreamt I was at Mander
She said I threw a crayon at her head, but Troy throws stuff all the time! I didn't do it! I don't want to get in trouble for something I didn't even do!
Last night I dreamt I was at M
I don't know WHY I just threw up, but fruits and vegetables always make me throw up. It's not the flavor, it's the...the...I dunno.
LAST NIGHT I DREAMT I WAS AT MANDER
I need to study French, because I want to move to France. I can already sound like I speak French, hou hou hou Oui Oui.
Last night I dreamt I was at Manderley again.
STOP TICKLING ME! STOP IT!
Last night I dreamt I was at...aw, fuck. I give up. Time to do the dishes, anyway.
As Fiddlin' Writer says, motherhood gives us all ADD.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment