Creaking brain cells

It was great while it lasted. I went to yoga classes mid-afternoon, met up with friends on a snowy day for hot tea and peach tart, walked along Central Park's south side watching the horse-drawn carriages, shopped around Bloomingdale's and the Rockefeller Center, and had cozy evenings indoors with M. But now it is all over. I have homework to do.

As I ponder on what my short story's plot will be, I can hear from the television in the living room the choir singing from the prayer service President Bush is attending. I am sitting on the bedroom carpet with the laptop in front of me, and I see a piece of lint on the carpet. Maybe I should vaccuum the flat first, before I start on writing. I just had a bowl of cereal - maybe I should have a waffle before I get hungry. I sniff at my arm. Perhaps I should take a shower first.

But time is short - I have until mid-afternoon then I am meant to go out for dinner, which leaves me seven hours. Seven hours to write an outline for a short story! It cannot be completed on time, I know, but if I don't even start on it there is not a chance I can finish something by next Tuesday.

Even with the deadline looming in my mind, I am thinking whether I should wear a skirt today in 15 degrees Fahrenheit (that's around - 9 degrees Celsius). If I wore my woolly stockings under my new boots, it wouldn't be so cold, would it? Oh dear. I am fighting a losing battle. I must concentrate. Perhaps I should write a story on a woman who cannot do her creative writing homework so she decides to run away to Mexico where she ends up running the world's best taqueria!

Isn't it strange, I always thought I would have so much to write about once I had the time, but now that I have more time on my hands than I have ever had before, I am stumped? This must surely show that I am not meant to be a writer. Maybe I should go to Williams-Sonoma to buy baking tools instead.