Writing? What's writing? Two-hour marathon trips to Target and subsequent pantry organization, bruise-inducing trips up and down stairs, forearm conditioning from spritzing 409 on surfaces and rubbing them to a dull rental sheen… These tasks have replaced my writing and sapped me of creative energy.
Well, not completely. This morning, I used the last of my desiccated creative juices to make up alternate lyrics to Lynyrd Skynyrd's "Sweet Home Alabama" for the Knight's enjoyment as we sped through suburban hell toward my office.
It's all I can do to figure out how to store all my herbs and spices in that now-not-so-massive pantry — you know, my three jars of chili powder, gross of sesame seeds and variety of multicultural seasoning blends I don't know the first thing about using — let alone put a blog post together.
I keep telling myself this will resolve itself once I'm settled. Once we're settled. Tomorrow, the AT&T technician will be back to hook up our telephone and Internet. Step one.
Friday morning, the gas will finally be operational. It seemed reasonable at the time to schedule the disconnect/connect for my old apartment and the new place on the same day. Turns out, I don't actually enjoy taking the teapot up a flight of rickety wooden stairs just to boil water for two cups. And it's much easier to make a GrubHub order from my iPhone than it is to improvise a meal between the bare refrigerator and tiny microwave. Step two. And Saturday, DirecTV comes. Step three. Done. Settled. Wait, did I say I was going to start blogging after I was settled? I meant after I get my Food Network fix. Giada, we've got a date Saturday night.
Then I'll write. After these past couple of weeks, it's about all I'll be able to afford to do.