My husband, a Marine Corps veteran with more than 20 years of active duty service, loves to tell me "Excuses are like a$$holes; everybody has one and they all stink." I've cleaned his little adage up a bit for my title, but it still works.
There's been an awful lot of blog and Twitter silence on my end lately. My end? I apologize in advance for this post. Apparently I have my mind in the gutter. Anyway, I'd like to blame the dead air on my husband but I know that would just be me making an excuse for not Doing It Anyway.
While the Gunny enjoyed a break from work, he spent the bulk of his time on the computer catching up on his Facebook applications. Since the kids fried our desktop and the community laptop is perpetually occupied by one of our five children, he spent all those hours on MY precious laptop. We can argue the whole "I make the money so it's really MY computer" issue all day long, but I prefer to stick to my non-confrontational tendencies and let him believe whatever lies he chooses to tell himself to feel like a man. When he wasn't glued to the computer, he was in overdrive; taking care of all the little odds and ends he's been meaning to address but hasn't had time to deal with.
So here's my predicament: When he's in overdrive, I usually become the Al Borland to his Tim "The Tool Man" Taylor. When he's on his rear (there I go again) at my computer, nagging him to get off will only bring on the Tool Time role-playing game faster. What did I do?
I let him become my bumhole.
A lot of work was done around this house, including a thorough steam cleaning of my carpets. There's a lot of freaking carpet in a 3000 square foot home, let me tell you. The new puppy has already fertilized the dining room, but that's another blog post entirely (even if it is adhering to the colorectal theme I've got going here). But what didn't get done is any significant progress on my current writing project. When I did try to write, there was always something mundane he was dying to tell me that would completely destroy my train of thought. True, I took some pretty valuable notes here and there, but I was basically on hiatus while The Gunny was home.
Hindsight is 20/20. Heh, HINDsight. Still going. Anyway, I should've told him where to stick it and gone ahead with Doing It Anyway. I've been reborn into the religion of Write Every Day, and I am here to preach its gospel. The Gunny would've lived if I'd booted him off my laptop for a few hours every day and let one of the kids help him with his handyman projects.
Although Twitter frequently becomes a butt for me, it's a source of encouragement and inspiration more often than not. I adore my writer friends who are quite talented at Doing It Anyway; even if they do distract the heck out of me sometimes. I did get out an occasional tweet on my phone here and there but Tweetdeck was MIA from my desktop most of the time The Gunny was home. Having him relay tweets to me in his heavy Cornhole drawl was so very wrong. There's something unsettling about hearing Michelle Wolfson (a petite Jewish mother) debate the unschooling fiasco in The Gunny's rumbling drill sergeant voice.
Thanks to everyone who noticed I was unusually quiet. Life isn't the same without y'all.