up to my elbows in dishwater
In a strange and twisted way, I view writing as being similar to doing the dishes. Not saying that they’re both chores and I often leave both until they become desperate and mandatory situations requiring immediate action, although that shoe often fits more often then not as well…
They’re both things that I seem to avoid to do, almost to a fault. Deadlines fly by and dishes pile up. But once I do in fact begin the deed, it’s not that bad. Dishes provide a great time to reflect. Hell, I thought of this meandering passage of meaningless babble up to my elbows in dishwater.
They’re both almost addictive once I get started. Having to see the task through to the end. Just like coloring in coloring books, where I imagined that I had to color each part of the picture for it to actually come alive. The order, the process, the tangible start and finish of it all, it attracts me.
Of course this is just babble. Most everything I write here these days (or months from the look at the archives) is just to catch that first whiff of the words, the first dip of the quill and to focus that energy elsewhere. Rarely, if ever do I say what I mean to say. But I’ve already explained that all before.
For now, I have dishwater getting colder, dishes needing cleaner and then the real chores of words on a page for some other master.