Everything is still groovy here in the northwest corner of San Francisco. A and I have a well-stocked fridge (thanks to multiple weeks’ worth of shopping instead of panic buying), the only thing bothering our health at the moment is allergies from the airborne pollen, and we know well enough to was our hands thoroughly and frequently.
While I’m still concerned about having to continue going into the office at this time (as Sunday evening I have not heard any updates from the Day Job), I’m not overly worried. I sit somewhat away from a lot of other people — purely by chance — so my social distancing has been working out reasonably well so far. If they finally call it and we end up working remotely, I am totes fine with that.
I’m still working on my writing, regardless. I’m doing an edit of the Diwa & Kaffi synopsis that should be done by the end of next week, and I’m hoping to squeeze in some new words or at least new ideas for the possible new story ideas I have milling about in my head. My writing schedule is continuing as normal.
I do, however, remember the occasional winter evenings back in my Belfry days when I felt annoyed and frustrated when I was too sick to be productive. This was the end result of trying to hit a deadline, continue my streak of writing a thousand words every day, having a smoking habit, downing multiple Mountain Dews daily, and working extended hours during fourth quarter at a shipping warehouse. Guaranteed by late December my immune system was shot, my sciatica kicked in, my head was spinning, and my sinuses were pounding. The most I could do is play a game or two of FreeCell and call it done.
I know better now. I try to be creative about my writing time (read: I take it where and when I can get it, including slow moments at work), not give myself deadlines I can’t possibly keep, and I’m a hell of a lot healthier. I’m okay if the only writing I can manage is a paragraph or two in my personal journal. I’m annoyed, but I’m not hung up about it. I write when I can write.
Being healthy is just a tad bit more important, especially right now.
And yes, I time my hand washing via running through the twenty-seven seconds of The Beatles’ “Her Majesty.”