|This isn't my exact carpet, you can tell from the lack of stains, but this is the approximate effect|
And you know what? It's FANTASTIC! Being alone, not the slugs.
No more trying to set a good example to the children by putting washing away immediately, clearing bowls and plates, tidying up after myself! No more watching incredibly rubbish TV because of 'majority decisions'. No more writing with one eye on the clock, waiting to be disturbed.
I can now live like the utter slattern I really am. My inner slob is running free (and quite often un-underpanted, because the dogs don't care what I'm wearing)! I can eat nothing but sandwiches and cereal if I want! (I don't, because I don't much like sandwiches, but I can if I want to, and that's what matters). I can wander around the house in nothing but a dressing gown and a pair of socks on my head....actually, no, I've always done that, it's part of being a writer, sorry. I can buy a packet of biscuits and they are still in the cupboard when I want one!
More to the point, I can write whenever I want to. Apart from the necessity of going to work to actually earn money, the rest of my time is completely my own. Of course, this means that I sit down with the full intention of working (that Christmas novella isn't going to write itself. I know this, because I've tried leaving the laptop switched on when I wasn't around, and the only words that appeared were 'Gnfugggjjjjjjdfjkl;afe ngerw231123'. Either a cat on the keyboard or my poltergeist is illiterate) and look up four days later to find that my tea has gone cold and I've read my way through the entire Fortean Times message forum. And I still don't have any pants on, my socks are still on my head, and the postman is poking me with a stick through an open window because he thinks I might be dead.
|The cup of tea in question. Yes, I know it says Coffee on it, but I'm spontaneous like that||.|