I took today off from my day job as a paralegal. There is a dinner tonight hosted by SinC/LA for the SinC/National Hollywood Conference and I didn't want to be rushed attending to last minute details. I also thought it would be fun to play a bit of hooky. Having a day off when most other people are working is such a treat.
The agenda: get up my usual time; check e-mail; then buckle down to write for a few hours; get a manicure and pedicure; have a leisurely lunch with friend (who also thought playing hooky for a few hours would be fun); write some more; finish dinner details and get ready for dinner. Sounds like a plan doesn't it?
So here's the problem. When I woke this morning, Selma the muse was not here. Instead, my other muse, Hazel, appeared. And herein lies the conflict.
I love a clean home. I used to have a cleaning lady, but that was when I lived in a much larger apartment. Since moving to Los Angeles, my digs are about half the size and I can't see the point when I can do it easily myself. But when I'm in my writing zone, cleanliness of my surroundings is the last thing I think about. However, there comes a point when instead of writing all I think about is how grungy everything looks. When my need for tidiness conflicts with my need to write, something has to give.
Gotta go -- Hazel's standing by with a sponge and mop looking at her watch and the cats are clamoring for a fresh litter box. And then there's the manicure appointment deadline-- every woman knows you clean your house before you get your nails done.
59 days and counting -- Doesn't Hazel know that?