Well at least I'm driven to do this. I came across the sidewalk from the garage to the house after dropping the boy wonder and running a few errands (boy are the streets easy to negotiate when no one is on them! and thank goodness for drop boxes) thinking, "Now I get to write. In the quiet. I can begin my day with my favorite thing to do and a strawberry cheesecake cappaccino." (The Total station beckoned me in the course of my errands. LOL!)

Here I am about an hour later, having sorted through various e-mails and articles from the newsfeeder, and I'm thinking I should have waited to do all those things because my mind isn't in it's sing-song creative voice anymore. It's packed with facts and practicality which don't lend themselves very well to letting the words spill on their own and line up according to their own constellations. Instead I want to control them--mix and match them to my specifications. That's a better job for the editor, but not the creator. Perhaps reading already-edited material should be reserved for after the creating is done for the day.

I woke today feeling suprisingly fresh. That's what getting into the flow does for me, no matter what the project. Not only is the paperwork for this year's taxes pretty much in order, I have a good jump on next year's as well, because I developed the system to work for both years. As I sort, I'm sorting every piece of paper that has been thrown in the receipt drawer and I feel more in control today than I have for weeks.

I never realized what a control freak I was. I think it gets worse with age. But then, I'm not nearly as bad as my dh. For example, I love crepe myrtle bushes but he can't stand them because he can't chop them into neat little round bushes. We inherited crepe myrtles at two of the houses we've lived in since we moved back to Oklahoma, and I've been livid watching him and his handy-dandy electric branch-chopper prune off the blooms to "shape" the bushes. I wish someone would take this man by the hand and tell him when to prune things, but I doubt he would listen to them either. I just know he pruned an apricot tree to death. I'm so glad we sold that place before I cried over that. Apricots!

And so here I ramble, listening to Tinker's planes thunder overhead and the swish of the dishwasher as it does my work. Occassionally my youngest sighs in his sleep. The ice maker thunks decisively every so often and my timer on my computer rings--reminding me just how long I've been on here and that the "House Needs Attention." Boy howdy does it ever. I need a maid for tax season. Maybe I should save up.

Nah. The tax refund is going toward a hotel room for the OWFI conference just weeks away. I have to stay. I thought about not doing it. Our bank accounts are dwindling and I live in the city where it's held for heaven's sake. Almost actually--I'm in a suburb of OKC, about a 15 to 20 minute drive away. But staying at MicroTel for the conference is such a treat for me. I love spilling the conference packet out on the bed I don't sleep in and sorting through all of it. I love plugging the computer into the wall and using the "Microtel" dial-up settings and then staying on just as long as I like before taking myself off to supper and perhaps a roam through Garden Ridge. I have been known to get very, very brave and take my not-so-little self, complete with blindingly white skin down to the hot tub and sit for awhile. (Love it when my sis could come and share that part--we sat in there and talked almost too long!) I have a place to crash in lengthy break periods when I'm over-peopled and need some time alone. And above all I don't have the distractions of mounting laundry or dirty dishes or the demands of people who think, "Well she's home, let's see what we can have her do for us, since she's not done a thing in that regard all day long!"

I find staying in hotels luxurious and I so want to treat myself to this once-a-year escape. We'll see how the bank balances are in a week or so.

Better get busy on the rest of the day. Ramble over. :)