Almost a week ago I embarked on an adventure with my husband of twenty years. I’ll call this new endeavour The Empty Nesters Flee After Child Starts University.
It’s kind of funny actually because now I find myself tucked into a comfy cozy corner in the back of a twenty-four-foot motor home. If I don’t think about it too much it’s sort of romantic hitting the open road and seeing where the wind blows you.
The problem is me. I’m a writer. I have deadlines and projects on the go. How the hell am I supposed to work while I’m without internet and wanting to just curl into that little nook in the back and rest my weary–my oh so weary–brain?!
And–get this–okay this is a real issue…This thing called fresh air is invading my space and consciousness to a point of making me want to do things like hike or walk the dog. It’s ridiculous and distracting.
But the biggest, baddest thing that you can’t tell anyone that I told you–promise? Please don’t judge me but since we left on the said adventure we stop in the middle of the day for a nap! Wowsers!! I had no idea just how wonderfully satisfying it could be to tuck in with a book at 2 pm and drift off for an hour or two–like I have no cares in the world.
Who am I trying to kid?
This is not good.
Nothing is getting done.
I must get my brain working like a normal (lmao) writer again. You all know what I mean, don’t you?
Please tell me you understand. In the meantime I’m tucking myself into my own little heaven of fluff and fancy for a snooze. Shh…don’t tell.
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