What Am I Doing?

For the first time in--um, a year? longer than a year?--I don't have any pressing, urgent business to accomplish this week. My work life is hectic and so is my personal life. (I think that's enough to say--everyone's life is complex and difficult, so there's no point discussing it. 'Cept mine is the most difficult, of course!) I figured I'd get to work writing.

But first I bought the DH a birthday present (his 50th--birthday, not present, I haven't had time to buy presents) and cleared up a bit from the SDJ and answered email from LI. And I wrote a paragraph. Then I went to sleep. Then I did some more clean up from the SDJ and got the youngest kiddo from the school bus stop. And wrote another paragraph.

At this rate, I should have a book sometime before I die. Why can't I write when I actually, really, truly have time to write??