Thank you, Andrea, for being the first person to comment on my blog since November.

It makes me feel infinitely better to read posts from my favorite bloggers saying they’ll be back after the first of the year. I don’t feel so guilty for not paying proper attention to this place. it’s hard to get motivated to keep writing when there’s little, if any, feedback. Or email responses to questions I’ve asked.

As for what I’ve been doing, well… today I spent the better part of the day in bed. In between napping and clutching my abdomen while wanting to die, I pondered the mysteries of life.

I’ve been making slow progress on my 101 things list. I think I’m up to 27. I realized this week that no matter how much I would love to throw my hat into the ring of freelance writing, there is one thing that will consistently trip me up: the lack of a place in which to write undisturbed. I have no office here since both boys moved back home. My desk is currently set up in the living room, which is fine when no one is home, but exasperating when I’m not alone.

Example: on Monday, I was attempting to respond to something I read on Toledo Talk. The Boyfriend asked me if he could check his eBay auctions because something was going to end in about six minutes. I said, “Just let me finish this. I’ll be done in less than a minute.” I continued to rapidly type out my thoughts and then out of the blue, he mentioned that he has to work on New Year’s Eve. In an instant, I was no longer thinking about my T2 post, because I was upset about the fact that our plans for New Year’s are now completely screwed up.

This kind of thing happens all the time. It’s not always The Boyfriend. Sometimes it’s JM, telling me about something that happened at work that day. Or JL, asking me what he should do about school.

I think it’s a carryover from when they were all younger. When Mom is available, there’s no need to bother her. But the minute she answers the phone… ALERT! ALERT! PARENTAL ATTENTION HAS BEEN DIVERTED! The children that were previously playing quietly are now picking fights with each other and/or tapping your arm while repeating, “Mom. Mom. Momma. Mom. MOM. MOMMEEE!” increasing in urgency until you finally cover the mouthpiece and say, “WHAT?” only to be asked, “What are you doing?”

There is a reason I like cats. They only bother me when it’s feeding time.

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