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desperanceI have to wait in for a delivery, and you-all know how good I am at this. Grr. It's noon already, which means half my day has been slurruped up in packets which are not to be recalled. (I don't actually know if you can reverse an Archimedes' screw to have it bring the water back down again, but no one ever does.)
I have not been idle, exactly - I have a story (Oscar Wilde! on Mars!) which needs a little delicate redrafting, and I'm halfway through - but I could so have been doing other things. I could have gone to the bike shop and considered my acid-green new love object; I could have gone to the stores and considered what to cook for eight hungry people tonight. But no. I daren't even go out into the back yard and dig up my unproductive fava beans, ready for this weekend's major planting of the spring garden, for fear of missing a ring at the doorbell or a knock on the door. (It's weird, how many people - professionals included - ignore the bell and just knock.)
I do so hate being penned to the house this way. It has to be done - they also serve, who only twitch and wait - but oh, I am so very bad at waiting.
I have not been idle, exactly - I have a story (Oscar Wilde! on Mars!) which needs a little delicate redrafting, and I'm halfway through - but I could so have been doing other things. I could have gone to the bike shop and considered my acid-green new love object; I could have gone to the stores and considered what to cook for eight hungry people tonight. But no. I daren't even go out into the back yard and dig up my unproductive fava beans, ready for this weekend's major planting of the spring garden, for fear of missing a ring at the doorbell or a knock on the door. (It's weird, how many people - professionals included - ignore the bell and just knock.)
I do so hate being penned to the house this way. It has to be done - they also serve, who only twitch and wait - but oh, I am so very bad at waiting.