by Andilyn Jenkins
I write everything in my day planner (although I call it an assignment calendar because I'm still in fifth grade, apparently). Call me old-fashioned, but there's something I get from a hard calendar and scribbles that I can't accomplish on my iPhone. And this week, I have my time calculated to the minute. Today was chores-day and writing night. I spent my entire day vacuuming, tidying, scrubbing, dusting, and washing. And after finishing the laundry at 10:00, I began writing. Tomorrow is errands-day, mutual, ANWA, and freelance work. Thursday is baking-for-neighbor-gifts-day and temple-night. And Friday is deliver-neighbor-gifts day and Christmas party/date night. I think you see where I'm headed as far as my schedule this week goes. In fact, it probably looks a lot like yours. It's that time of year.
Well, three hours ago I started working on a poem for my post tonight--a beautiful poem I'm trying to write for my dad for Christmas that I've put off far too long. Two hours ago, my computer started telling me it needed to shut off in fifteen minutes to do updates. I declined. It postponed for fifteen more minutes. I was almost finished with my first draft of them poem, then I was going to post it here and request feedback from our readers to help me get it ready for Christmas. And then the fly flew into my ointment. An hour-and-a-half ago, my daughter woke up with various ailments ranging from sore limbs to an upset stomach. So between squatting on the bathroom floor holding her as she tried to use the bathroom to make her stomach feel better and rubbing her arms/legs/feet while telling her happy stories and singing her lullabies in bed, my computer restarted without my consent. And when I came back in my room for a brief moment before being called back into my daughter's bedroom, I discovered a blank computer screen and nothing recoverable in Word.
And you know what? I have no idea when I'm going to be able to sit down again and rewrite that poem, assuming I can recapture the spirit I had put into it. But it won't be tonight because every three sentences I get down here, Evelyn calls, "Mom!" from her bedroom. And my mommy-brain is kicked in and my muse is kicked out as I listen for whimpering or rustling from down the hall muffled beneath the clicks of my keyboard.
So, just to make myself feel better, I add "comfort sick Evelyn" to Wednesday and cross it off my list.
Merry Christmas. May your preparations go smoothly and may you always cut your wrapping paper the correct size on your first try. (Wrapping day was Sunday.)
EDITED NOTE: Immediately after posting this, I found a recoverable version of my poem in Word! Tender mercies :). Look for it Wednesday night on Andilyn Thinks and come give me your feedback so I can get this Christmas poem sent on its merry way.