JP is sick and I've been trying to take care of him. Last night was a super success. For the first time in our 3.5-year-old marriage, he did not add hot sauce to his dinner. I made him chicken tortilla soup that included a can of fire-roasted tomatoes, a jalapeno, and a few chipotles with adobo sauce.
He almost married me again on the spot.
And no, I did not get any writing or blogging done.
At this juncture, I should list several ways we writers can carve time out of our day to write. Time we hope will equal:
- Landing an agent, receiving an offer from a publishing house, and booking an author photo session.
- Vindication of our tendencies to daydream and stare vacantly into the void.
- Quitting the day job.
- Browsing Barnes & Noble, posing and sipping lattes next to our bestseller display.
- Permission to mail our bestseller to that mean girl who made our freshman year in high school a living terror.
But I haven't got any advice. Sometimes, we just gotta take care of those we love, make a chicken soup, load the dishwasher, and try again the next day.
Except, I think I caught his cold.
Maybe it's just time to read a good book.