There’s an old Gordon Lightfoot song that starts with “I’m on my second cup of coffee, and I still can’t face the day…” I know how he felt. Except, perhaps, it’s this week I still can’t face, although I must. Somehow, for all my good planning, a number of deadlines have converged: deadlines for my book, the community newsletter, another newsletter I’m part of, an upcoming promotion, a book review.
I shouldn’t be writing this: it’s procrastination, pure and simple. Or maybe not; maybe it’s a form of planning, of preparation. And a reminder to myself to take the breaks and small pleasures this week, too.
The book review and the promotion can be put off for a few days, but the work on my own book’s production and the two newsletters can’t be. So I will juggle those as best I can today and tomorrow, but I’m also going to go for a walk, and have lunch with writer friends today, even if I make it an hour rather than the usual two. I also need to plan tasks that get me out of my chair every 45 minutes or so. Yesterday, when I worked nearly non-stop from 6 to 6, it was the laundry. And the cat to feed, and breaks for coffee and breakfast and lunch, and muffins to make. Today perhaps I’ll make cookies, and soup, and focaccia – tasks that get me on my feet for fifteen minutes or so. And the dishwasher always seems to need emptying or filling – I call it dishwasher yoga.
In between it’ll be chunks of focused work, door closed, social media blocked, no interruptions. Phone calls go to voice mail, to be dealt with later. Email gets checked and responded to at scheduled times, part of the work day.
And this week will pass, the work will get done, and at the end of it, there’s a bottle of Laphroaig Quarter Cask on the drinks tray that I am very much looking forward to opening. A drop or two of water, a fire, feet up, and the satisfaction of work done. If that’s not an incentive, I don’t know what is.
But first, I need another cup of coffee.