Writing is . . . “very little actual writing.”
The day job.
Tracking down my marriage license because I can’t find our 2008 tax return. I need one or the other to prove that my betrothed is indeed my domestic partner. Otherwise, in 30 days he will be axed from my Washington State Health Care Authority insurance plan. (I am not even sure our marriage license got filed. Why? Because the guy who officiated our wedding was "ordained" via the Internet when the Internet was, well, a kind of sketchy operation held together by a bunch of prayer flags. Oh, and our officiant (officiator?) wasn’t exactly known for his secretarial skills. So, what happens if I have no license and can’t find the tax return? I guess that’s when I get to call the Health Care Authority and listen to the options, then hit 0 and pray I can talk to a person who understands that we do plan on spending the rest of our lives together, but we’re just not very good with filing. One thing's for certain, however. While I am on hold, I will not be writing.)
Cricket procurement, dispensation, and corpse removal.
Ditto for the “pinkies “ (very small mice).
Goldfish bowl cleaning.
Shuttling children to and from all order of Spanish and art classes, chess, swim lessons, soccer games and practices, birthday parties, dental and medical appointments (in other words, standard fare).
Life’s non-negotiables, including sleep, eat, Facebook, email, bi-weekly chat with folks, traffic, laundry, and looking all over the house for my car keys and cell phone.
Which leaves about, if lucky, half an hour per day (on average) for the act of doing what I am called on in this life to do, though most of that time is taken up with editing what’s already been written or venting long-hand in a journal (which I’ve been doing since I was 9), researching, blogging, & reviewing.
Thank God, as Birkerts asserts, “a writer doesn’t have to be sitting at his [sic] desk at all to be considered ‘in the act’.” What a relief to know that when I’m not writing I’m “inwardly shifting and shaping experience that eventually calls work forth.” I, lucky thing, unlike the poor sot who isn’t a writer, am “living liminally, hovering at all times at the threshold of transformation.” Thank God thinking about writing is enough!