Me and Pomegranate, trying to start our day.I'm never alone. Ever. Even when Alyce has left for preschool with Matt, who then heads off to work for the day, and Shira is napping (finally), and I sit down to work on a post or answer the emails I've avoided since yesterday, I am never alone. Without fail, one of three cats appears, incapable, it seems, to be more than one foot away from us at all times. So I work with it, because as much as I fantasize about it some days, they aren't going anywhere. And so it is that I begin my Tuesday morning writing, supervised by Pomegranate.
(See how I managed to write a post without actually saying anything of value, but still in keeping with my brand new habit of posting every day? I come by it honestly. I remember driving my grade six English teacher crazy with my poems and short stories about absolutely nothing. Poor Mr. Allison was often subjected to limericks about broccoli or a story about my shoe, simply because I liked producing quantity. Maybe even then I realized that developing a consistent writing habit would pay off.
Not likely.)
(See how I managed to write a post without actually saying anything of value, but still in keeping with my brand new habit of posting every day? I come by it honestly. I remember driving my grade six English teacher crazy with my poems and short stories about absolutely nothing. Poor Mr. Allison was often subjected to limericks about broccoli or a story about my shoe, simply because I liked producing quantity. Maybe even then I realized that developing a consistent writing habit would pay off.
Not likely.)
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