My workspace needs some tending to. My roll-top desk is a large, flat surface that often morphs into a laundry-folding surface for the already-folded clothing I dread putting away. Laundry is the worst.
Anyway, that doesn’t leave much room for a laptop and free-flowing ideas.
I had intended to wake up and clean my way back into that space. But instead I’m finding my mind is teeming with ideas and motivation first thing in the mornings. This is new. In my younger years, the late evening and wee hours of the morning were, as is the case with many writers, my creative peak. I got used to it. But lo and behold, here we are, my brain and I, and I am forced to learn a new pattern. Ugh.
See, this gets in the way of my yoga. The yoga I never go to because I don’t wake up early enough. But I’m starting to wake up early, and today I cheered when I realized it wasn’t 11 a.m., but nine, and I was definitely going to be able to make yoga. . .
I’m getting distracted.
The point is cleaning isn’t happening right now. Instead, I am once again stationed at my dining room table with the morning talk shows on the TV. I will go to yoga—I will. Watch me!—and then I’ll come home and write a story ordering everyone who can to go to Leavenworth, Washington. It won’t be a request. I’m gonna be bossy and tell people what to do. Because I’m convinced I was shown the right way to do the little Bavarian town in the middle of the Northern Cascades.
But that’s the blogress struggle. Space. Both making it for work and making a schedule that fits in my own personal wants alongside life’s current needs. Turns out being your own boss is a little tougher than one might think. Only you to boss yourself around. And that really is the point of freelance.