This morning I went to school with my son. They’d invited the parents to a meeting to explain the IB assessment criteria. Report cards are coming out and apparently the grading system is complicated and too many damn pages for any man to understand … there go those Hamilton lyrics again. At least they provided good pastries. The school, not the Hamilton lyrics.
Walking back to the station post-meeting I marveled, as I always do, at the amount of people who seemed to be out and about. Don’t they have jobs to go to? Or is everyone on maternity leave/unemployed/off sick/retired/freelancers who control their own time? Every time I find myself out and about during normal working hours, I wonder what it would be like to be in control of my own time.
If I get to have the writer’s life I dream of, will I be able to create a routine for myself? Will I be disciplined enough to write every day and ensure I keep the life I want? I mean, sometimes when I work from home I barely bother to get dressed.
I might just quickly put on a load of laundry or load the dishwasher. The windows and floors also need cleaning. I could see me having a very clean apartment and not getting quite so much done. Maybe I’d just take the dog for another walk for inspiration. (In my writer’s life fantasy I have a dog.) Guess I’d have to get dressed for that. Eventually I’d be back in another office six months later having gone down in flames in a very mediocre, not-at-all-spectacular way.
Actually, scratch that.
Having no routine – but having a passion – would be the perfect combo. It would get me out of my hated Sunday cleaning and laundry routine, because I’d be able to spread it out over the entire week. Then I’d write. And occasionally be one of those people who are out and about because they’re not bound by routine. And never ever bound by ABS.
I’d probably still dream about an office in an old building by the water with an iMac. But one dream at a time. I might also need to put a lock on the kitchen cupboards. Reaching for snacks is way too easy.