Day 47...Why I Did Not Write Today

I meant to. Really I did. I had a plan for an uninterrupted two hours of writing. I would take my son to soccer practice at 8:00 a.m., then sit quietly, in the car or at a picnic table, pen in hand, contemplating the serenity of a soccer field in Suburbia at an early hour on a perfect late August morning, and, as inspiration would surely wash over me, like a garden hose over a muddy 4X4, the words would flow from my soul, course through my body, emerge from my pen and onto the page, until practice ended at ten. The relief I would feel! The joy of creative expression! I would be as a Genie released from her bottle, ready to perform mysterious and magical feats to dazzle the gentle reader.

But first, I thought as my son left the car I must return these books and DVDs to the library. The library's not open at eight, but they have those two drop boxes, and the parking lot will be empty so I can drive the wrong way in on the one-way driveway so I don't have to take the long way around the back of the building. Then I'll just stop at the grocery store to pick up some bananas and trail mix, which my son begged me to buy this morning on our way out the door. And on the way back from the grocery store, I realized it would really be much more comfortable to write at the picnic table on the back deck at home, because there would be no people there and no soccer playing to distract me, and the back deck at home is just a glorious place to be on a perfect late summer morning, where the only sounds are the chirping of crickets, and slam of the bird feeder when that damn bluejay crashes into it, and the neighbor backing down his gravelly driveway, and maybe the damn dog barking at the damn deer, who is contentedly munching on my hostas at the edge of the woods. That, and the traffic helicopter, which I admit, does disturb my reverie.

But it's beautiful! And, once the helicopter leaves, Serenity itself. The woods are lush and thick, backlit by the risen sun, whose rays seep through the verdant canopy, casting everything in a warm, golden...wait, I have to move. The sun is in my eyes.

Since I'm up, I'll just be right back, just as soon as I put some laundry in and rinse off the breakfast dishes and check email and facebook (I'm pretty sure it's my turn in like six games), and return the chimney guy's phone call (we need a new flue liner), and... Oh, Hell. The helicopter is back.