Sundays

I always feel guilty on Sundays. I wake up and in my head compile a list of all the things I had wanted to achieve in the week but hadn’t managed. Then I wonder how I’m going to fit everything in together with the things that Sundays should be about, namely getting out and collecting new experiences.

Years ago in the warmer months I would catch the train to Finchley Road and walk to Hampstead Heath, just to feel the air in my lungs. I’d sit on the bench by the duck pond and think. Sometimes I would get new ideas for stories or think about what I want to do with my life and formulate a plan in my head. I haven’t done this in a while and today I’m missing it.

Today I had to make some tough decisions and think about where I want my job search to go.  There is a chance the interview I went for earlier in the week will be successful and I needed to decide if it was what I wanted or not. I should have jumped on the first train to anywhere and walked till I cleared my head but instead I reached for my Ipod.

I sat with it on shuffle for 2 hours turned up at full volume mostly as it jumped from one song to the next, with me skipping some in between. I wonder why my ears ring from time to time, too much loud music and being by the speakers at concerts!

I decided I don’t want the job if I am offered it. I also decided I wanted to be anywhere other than here, surrounded by the guilt of unfinished jobs and a pile of ironing that would make anyone weep.

The music stirred my creativity and characters popped into my head screaming at me to tell their story. Instead I reached for my pile of unread copies of Writing Magazine, which is now getting to be quite high.  I purposefully piled them on my desk rather than under it with the rest of my to-read newspapers and magazines so I would not be able to ignore it any longer. I’ve spent the last month dragging the pile across the desk and out the way so I can use the compter and not really tackling the reading.

But today I made an effort and I finished a magazine I have been reading all week, complete with post it page markers for me to log in my ‘hints and tips book’. So I feel as though I have achieved something.

But now I’m torn between writing and doing chores. Having clean clothes for the week will be beneficial after all, I’m not sure me turning up naked for work will do me much good. But the ironing pile is seemingly never-ending and it doesn’t fire my imagination, rather than serve as a reminder of what I would rather be doing.

If I get out my novel and do the hand edit it will be nearer to publishing. Then there are the short stories I have been noting ideas on, the ones I have been advised to re-work, the competitions I want to enter, the essay I have written that I want to send off to a competition but needs research and the children’s stories I have neglected.

Then there is a structurally unsound pile of newspapers and magazines I have ignored for months. My unread books are in 3 wobbly looking piles that I told someone were fine as a Structural Engineer had passed them safe when commenting on them earlier. Together with the piles of Writing Magazine and job search information littering my desk, which I normally keep bare.

I confess I am the person in the office with a bare desk, with all my stationary neatly lined up. The people with messy desks take great delight in messing it up for me only to watch me have to put it all back in line before I can work. OCD isn’t a bad thing is it? To me a messy desk means there is work to do and the only way to tidy it is to get it done and put it on someone elses desk.

Then there is the list I have been building all winter of the places I want to visit when the weather gets warmer. Places I’ve read about in newspaper articles and seen on TV or online. The Greenwich cable car, the memorial to Bomber Command in Hyde Park, Jane Austen’s house amongst others.

There are also the places I love to go to just walk and forget everything, the river at Embankment where there is a lovely garden with benches to sit and enjoy the view, Hampstead and Primrose Hill, The Bunny Park, Gunnersbury Park, Runnymede, Windsor well anywhere along the Thames really. Sometimes I need to go to the coast and feel the breeze blow all the cobwebs away and Bournemouth is good for that.

But today I’m stuck at home.

Next Sunday is Mother’s Day so it will be spent with my Mum and Nan taking them somewhere nice for the day. So to make up for that I can sacrifice one day of writing to make sure everyone has clean clothes for work. I have a pile of DVD’s to keep my company while I do it, and if I get bored I can always tackle one of the unsafe piles of reading I have dotted around or carry on with my cross stitch.

I did try something new this week, I wrote a story for an erotic fiction competition. It was quite fun. I have no idea if anyone will read it, but I enjoyed writing it, and that is the important thing to me.

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