I've been procrastinating from my procrastinating. Today, instead of working on moving my clothes out of my overstuffed bedroom closet into this bigger, empty one, I weeded the paving stones of my driveway. Last summer, a teenager across the street laughed long and hard at me for doing this. He was right to do so. I wished he was there today, pointing his big, gawky finger at me. They're weeds. It's your driveway. You have GOT to have better things to do.

I miss writing all afternoon and then trudging back to the computer to write all night. I miss the beautiful sentences. I miss the surprise image arriving fully formed and the preposition it took an hour to decide on. I'll have to try and find all that again. Maybe after I finish moving my clothes