Friday night it started to snow. It snowed all through the night and off and on all the next day. By the time it was done we got between 10 and 15 centimeters of snow. Naturally, I spent most of the weekend inside, curled up in front of a fire. It was the perfect time to write, locked away from all the distractions of the world in a warm, cozy nest. But did I? No. I barely did anything. In fact, for a good portion of Saturday I just lay on a blanket in front of the fire listening to wave sounds. Yep. That's me. Making great use of my time.
But that's the hard part of being a writer with a full time job. You never truly feel like you should be relaxing. There's always something you should be working on, something you should be writing, something you should be editing. And I have to admit, there's a lot I need to be doing. And if it isn't writing, it's something else. My house is generally always in a state of chaos. I do my best to stay on top of it, but amidst the countless tasks on my to do list, cleaning ranks pretty low on the priority chart.
So, every once in a while (okay, maybe a little more often than that) I have a slip up. I spend the day lounging on the couch watching old episodes of Happy Endings and The New Girl (PS. How great are those shows? Seriously, I can't get enough). And that's okay, just so long as I remember what's important and what I really want out of my time. Because relaxing is one thing. Being a lazy slob is another.