Little to Report

This writer has little to report.  I type, stare out the window, type some more, ignore my to-do list, and type.  At the end of the day, it looks like I’ve done nothing.  The breakfast dishes still list in the sink, and no one has moved the pile of tax things on the table.

It sort of reminds me of raising toddlers, actually.  We’d live in the moment all day, building towers, talking, running, and laughing, while the housework went ignored around us.  At the end of the day, they were teenagers leaving for college.  Even so I may complete another novel.