I am so behind. I feel…

I am so behind. I feel compelled to list what I actually got accomplished today, forgive me. I'm hoping it will make me feel better.

• supervising guys pruning our trees -- this was sort of a pain, in multiple ways, but the end result will be that a) the power line running diagonally across our back yard will now run along the fence instead, which will at least LOOK less hazardous, and b) we should have notably more sun in the front yard, which will be good for flowers in a few months; fingers crossed

• many hours of e-mail backlog processing resulting in about 80+ messages handled. 513 to go. At this rate, if I dedicate one solid week of full-time work to e-mail, I might actually get through it all. Hell.

• talked to a cleaning lady (I don't like that term, it doesn't sound right, but I can't think of anything better -- 'cleaning person' sounds goofy, and 'woman with her own house-cleaning business' is long and cumbersome, help) and she is coming on Saturday, and then once a month thereafter, and I am SO glad that the budget has loosened up enough to allow for her help because if you could see the state of my stovetop, you would probably have a heart attack. Also, the dustbunnies under our bed are procreating wildly.

• did the first stage of reorganizing our closet so that we can better assess how much closet space we're still short of, and what size dresser(s) we need to squeeze into our bedroom -- the project is not done, but significant progress was made

• cooked dinner and fed the family

• played some with the cute and happy children

So all of that was good, really. I worked from morning 'til night and I accomplished a hell of a lot, actually. But the problem is that what I didn't do was write, and that lack is making me crazy. And I could write now, because I'm wide awake, but I -- no, screw that. It's just an excuse, a list of excuses, that I'm in bed already and I can't type much more in this position, and it's cold out of the bed and I'd have to put on clothes, and I have to get up at 6 and do class prep before the kids get up so I can teach, so I should go to bed now in order to get eight hours sleep -- I mean, that's all true, but if I'm writing all this and I'm wide awake, clearly the solution is to get up and wrap myself in warm clothes and write fiction for an hour or two, and then I will be happy when I go to sleep, and if I only sleep six or seven hours instead of eight, it is not going to kill me.

Okay then.

11:30 update: I went and did writing. Revising, actually, but productive revising, and I think I figured out what I want to happen with my half-drafted story (#7 in Demimonde, "Old Friends Meet"), so when I get to write again (I can maybe squeeze out an hour tomorrow afternoon, if I'm not too exhausted), I'll know where to take it. Good progress. So much happier. Also sleepy. G'night!