I woke up at 3:30 this morning and I couldn’t go back to sleep. Why? Because I was thinking about dinner. Not tonight’s dinner, but what I’ll serve for a dinner-party I’m hosting on the last Sunday of this month. That’s right, it’s over three weeks away, but I can’t help it. I’m planning the menu, visualizing the table setting and thinking of all the stuff I need to do around my house before I serve a sit-down meal to twenty people. See, for so many months I’ve been obsessing on writing I’ve pretty much let my house go to shit and now I have a lot of catching up to do.

I’ve recently discovered my writing style. I write fast, obsessively. When I’m writing on deadline, I am consumed with writing. I get up, go to my computer and write. I write all day, until I can’t think straight. I usually write some more at night. I can barely have a conversation with my non-writer friends because they have a life and for some strange reason don’t want to hear about the people living in my head. When I’m writing like this, I can’t cook, I can’t look at my regular mail. I can just write. Needless to say, things around my house go ignored. Like, my kid’s toys are a disorganized mess. Sometime this year he grew out of toddlerdom and now I need to get rid of the oversized books and baby toys to make room for all the matchbox cars that I keep finding in every corner of my home.

I also need to paint my baseboards.

I also need to hang some pictures.

I also need to make sure I have twenty cloth napkins to match the burgundy place-mats I plan to use.

So now I’m obsessing on house stuff. I can’t write, I’m even bored by the internet. I know, right? But I have a book due February first and I know I’ll be obsessing on writing again in the near future. Hopefully I’ll get my baseboards painted first.