Yes, I have just given myself the worst earworm: “Time Passages” by Al Stewart. I HAVE mentioned I cannot stand high male singing voices, right? Yeah. Fantastic, Megan.

So anyhoo, I’m working four days a week at this new not quite a full-time, but bigger than a part-time, thing, and also continuing the other freelance and making dinners and packing lunches and TRYING not to eat ALL of the holiday cookies that are still in the house.

And I’m somehow managing it. It’s only the first week, but I’m not all worn out and overwhelmed. Maybe that’s because I like the new job so much?

Of course, I haven’t yet removed Christmas from the house (note to self: Undecorate tree), and there are larger things (note to you: Do not visit my bathroom!) that need doing, but so far–so good.

This weekend, The His Best Friend Moved To LA And The Knicks Are There This Weekend Spouse is heading to California, which means I’ll be having some fun time with the Super-Smart Lawyer and the Spawn. Much wine will be consumed (not by the Spawn, of course).

Maybe I’ll get tipsy and tackle the bathroom. It’s a thought. Maybe not a good one, but a thought nonetheless.

I am gonna post something today, because I am feeling kinda lonely on out here in Brooklyn, and I wanted to talk to someone. Even if someone means I am typing on a white screen and thinking a coupla random people might read it (someone found me here by searching for “pictures of loving couples.” Um. Move along, Me and The Guy are SO not those people. Dude hardly ever smiles in pictures. Or in real life, for that matter).

I am 50 pages into the contemporary, wrestling with all kinds of stuff, like my writing process, my time management (someone else found me by searching for “SAHM time management.” HA!), my characters, voice, future, goals, etc. A whole lotta stuff.

I need to find time to write, which will mean watching fewer movies, reading fewer books, wasting less time online. I am missing my friends, particularly the Super-Smart Lawyer, whom I haven’t seen in too long (hi! if you’re reading this. She never comments here, so I don’t know). So I am going to make time for that, but I am going to do that whole ‘reaching down inside myself and figuring WTF is important, and forget the other stuff’ thing I am usually a miserable failure at.

Okay. Off to do that. Thanks for listening.

I am doing well on the diet and exercise tip, but haven’t yet gotten myself to buckle down and write.

Instead, I am cleaning (the house is clean! Oh, so clean!), looking up noir films so I can add them to the Netflix queue, checking Twitter, Facebook, and all those networks that pass for socializing in my world.

Must stop futzing. Not this weekend, though, when we’ve got relatives in town and entertaining to do. Plus a massive snowstorm.

Monday? How about Monday?

Okay. Monday. And if I don’t write on Monday, feel free to mock me viciously.

Megan

PS: The pic is how I imagine my as-yet-unnamed Irish guy looking. Yeah, it’s FICTION.

Aha! I thought of what to discuss here, went to put it in the title, and saw I had already used it: Time Management. I’ve cleaned up my basement, all the white undershirts (don’t ask!) are clean, and I am able to keep the dining room table clear.

But I haven’t been able to carve out consistent time to write, except for when the Alpha Dog comes over for a writing date.

So the next step, besides ridding myself of my summer 10, is to write every other day, at least. A goal I think I can manage, if I reward myself sufficiently (”you can’t have a study break if you don’t study”).

Okay. Deep breath. Wish me luck.

So the second of the two fall weddings the Spouse and I had are done, and it’s finally cool enough for me to work in the basement. Plus my summer weight gain is driving me nuts, and I have to get back on track with writing and the gym.

I gotta stop futzing around, and get back to work.

That’s what I’m going to do now. After some coffee, natch.

So I came back from the New England Conference all fired up to write, and–there are boxes to unpack. And freelance work to be done. And did I mention the boxes?

What I have to do when I get a minute (ha! The irony!) is figure out where my time goes. Not here; this takes me all of about five minutes a day. Finding new Clive pix takes longer than writing my posts. I really want to start writing again, but I have to be focused and have a goal, or else it’s just meandering. So that’s my goal: Find a goal. Find time to write. Stop wringing my real and virtual hands over my lack of time.

Yeah, I’ll be getting right on that.

Most people deplore Mondays. Not me. The Sometimes Difficult Spouse is back to work, the Wants To Play Electronics Most Of His Waking Moments Son is at school, and I am home alone. Bliss. I really need alone time to recharge, otherwise I get all kinds of stressed.

Today I went running. If by ‘running’ I mean moving faster than a briskish walk. Man, was I slow.

But of the SEVEN FREAKING POUNDS I gained since Dad died, I’ve lost two. So yay. More exercise and oatmeal in the future.

The Wire debuted last night, and is going to be all about an editor on the metro desk at a busy urban newspaper. Yeah, HBO, rub it in, my former editor on the metro desk at a busy urban newspaper Dad died. But it should be a fun season, and I kid, but I’m not really that solipsistic.

Speaking of which, solipsistic is one of MY favorite words. What are yours?

Megan
PS: Myretta, I know this file is HUGE, but then folks can see the details–does that make it okay?

While at the NJRWA Conference (oh . . . did I mention I went enough? Geez, you’d think I never got out. Oh. Right.), I attended Eileen Dreyer’s Workshop on creating fabulous first and last lines. Usually, I attend workshops, take notes, and then promptly forget everything that made me go ‘aha!’ while in the workshop.

But this one–man, she is so smart, and so on my writing wavelength, I came home and rewrote the first line of Road To Passion. And I am actually going to consult my notes as I try to finish this puppy. I gave myself a deadline of October 31, but I am not sure I can make it. But a goal is a lovely thing to have.

And because of the workshop, I pulled Eileen’s book Head Games from the shelf, and am LOVING IT. She is fantastic, and I am thrilled I have The Unfortunate Miss Fortunes (written with Jenny Crusie and Anne Stuart, yow) still on my shelf.

Life is way too busy these days, and I just have not been able to get my lame ass back onto the Road To Passion. Freelance work is 2-3 hours, gym is 2-3 hours, Son is in school 6 1/2 hours, which leaves maybe an hour to do something else. Like laundry. Or grocery shopping*. Or blogging (which, as you can tell, takes me maybe ten minutes. Twenty if I want to scout out a REALLY HOT** picture of Clive. Oh, btw, a mom friend is a makeup artist and her friend does Clive’s makeup. How many degrees of separation is that? She offered to see if I could meet him, but I declined. I mean, what would be the point? Besides feeling all weird about it. I prefer to keep my obsessions at a distance). So when do I write?
Aagh. I have to figure it out, the book’s NOT GOING TO WRITE ITSELF, MISSY!

Okay. I have now humiliated myself here by talking like somebody’s mom (caveat: not mine), and admitting I have a problem.
If you’re doing something important to you that doesn’t contribute to family well-being, etc., how do you fit it in?

Megan
*I saw Queer Eye/Top Chef guy Ted Allen at the grocery store yesterday.
**He’s not more than usually hot here, but he is with his wife, who looks normal, which is nice.

Married women who keep silent during marital disputes have a greater chance of dying from heart disease and other conditions than women who speak their minds. (LA Times)
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