Quality Control

I just deleted a long post about the bakery where J works. I decided that I don't really have an ax to grind with them, they just aren't efficient and that bugs me. Why would you run an entire company in a way that is so inefficient?

Really, I want to talk about my wiffle ball injury. When was the last time I even saw or touched a wiffle ball? Long time, that's for sure. So to be hit in the face - hard - with a wiffle ball and to now sport and small, round mark, well, wiffle, on my chin (that really just looks like a you-know-what that I picked at) has made me think about how I don't play enough. Not just wiffle ball. Because even if I owned a wiffle ball and a flimsy, faux-wood bat I wouldn't go out into my non-existant yard and "knock" the ball around. But I do wish I played more games. Stupid board games and cards and air hockey.

Yes, lots more air hockey. Except I would start working out if I was going to play more air hockey so as to avoid a repeat of last week's debilating air hockey "injury" (that's a very physical game for the right forearm and inner elbow).

Face

This is a picture of me in Villandry in the Loire Valley. I have to post a picture of myself if I want to use it in my profile and I am planning on distracting myself from writing a lot with this blog so I ought to have a picture on it. Yes, my glasses are always always crooked. There's nothing to be done about it.

House Cleaning

If I kept my house cleaner, I would write more. I know it. I always say that I need to stop watching tv so that I have more time to read so that I don't use my writing time for reading. But really I need to stop watching tv so that I can clean the house at night and then there won't be any cleaning to distract me from writing in the morning. Yes, that's the new plan (or, more accurately, the latest plan).

Or here's another one: I should move to the Skagit Valley and live in beautiful house with a garden and a cat and J can have a dog and I won't even get tv reception and then I'll write all the time. That's what I think every time I come home from the Skagit Valley. Then the weekend wears off and I realize that really I'd garden and plays with my cat and J's dog all day and not really get more done at all.

I always think of Paulo Coehlo when I have that Skagit dream because I read an interview with him once (yes, I used to be a big fan of his, but I was young and there was a boy involved) and he said that after he made his Money from The Alchemist he rented a Swiss Chalet to write in. He'd always dreamed of writing in a Swiss Chalet. He's from, I don't remember where, someplace very urban and Spanish-speaking. So, he rented this Swiss Chalet and tried to write and got nothing done. He was bored, unstimulated, distracted, all of that. He went back to Lisbon (?) and had to squeeze his writing in between the rest of life and, of course, got the book done right away.

What's the trade-off? How stimulated do I have to be to write, without being so busy that I never get anything done? Or does that really have nothing to do with it?

Hold on, I have to switch my laundry.