annafdd

Cooked elaborate dinner. Eaten.

Starting to write ANY MINUTE NOW. I mean it.

Floor in living room really dirty... could stand some vacuuming...

Sent beginning of novel to sciamanna. sciamanna confirmed that there were too many words. Resolved to take out surplus words.

Decided bathroom needed vacuuming.

Took washed sheets to the laundrette to dry. Went to Sainsbury's to buy a few indispensables like orange juice and the New Scientist. Came back. Folded the sheets and ironed the pillow cases, musing on why exactly my washing up is never as clean as my mum and my ironing never gets rid of quite all of the creases as hers does. Industrial-strength iron at home may have something to do with it.

Read the New Scientist.

Launched the novel's beginning and formatted it and read through it. Did some tinkering with the prose.

It is far too clever for its own good and tries to be funny too hard. Oh well. Wouldn't mind so much if I could go on.

Feel rather sleepy now...

Table thoroughly decluttered and now looking downright minimalist. Windowsills dusted. Ceramic stove cleaned despite being pretty sparkly already. Dishes done. Flowerpots rearranged. Paper read*.

No writing yet.

* Wait! There's a new book by Umberto Eco out! And it looks dead interesting! I must have it! Now!

(thump thump thump). Consumerism subdued. Back to not writing.

Finished putting new sheets on. Almost completely decluttered living room table. Had pancakes.

Thought that if you wash used dishes immediately they don't pile up in sink. Realised that week-old pie in fridge probably has to go and plate underneath needs washing.

Still not writing.

Decided to write.

Realised that I feel peckish and to heat myself some pancakes, the better to write. Looked at tea towel and realised it was full of crumbs. Shaken off crumbs. Thought tea towel really needed washing. Thought of other red things to wash. Taken sheets off bed and put into washing machine. Now putting fresh sheets on bed.

No writing yet. Will keep you updated.

So, I have been noticing this pattern of feeling a burning need to get out and buy stuff whenever I'm home.

This has two negative consequences: one, I've managed to whittle away all of my savings since moving to London, albeit a large part of it went to admittedly needful things like beds, sofas, chairs, pots, pans, cutlery, food, and little colored candles.

Two, I am not writing.

So since today I was supposed to receive some bits and pieces from Ikea, I decided to stay home and forgo the acquisition of a new laptop cable (currently I'm on battery until the camera battery is charged up), and a stack of cd holders to put my bedside lamp on them, and STAY HOME AND WRITE.

Only, I need to read the stuff I printed out, right? And annotate it. And the table is full of clutter. So I have to declutter the table. Come to think of it, the living room could stand some general tidying up and cleaning. And the file for my novel isn't formatted very well and that would not do.

See, I have this nice new wireless (as in, with a rechargable battery) vacuum cleaner...