Being a working artist is great, right? I’m home. The house is quiet. Both men in the house who work are working. I have all this time. Right? Well I do.
I have a marvelous husband who likes that I’m an artist and who supports me and my chaos. “That’s good!” he says, when I show him a blog post or a chapter I’ve finished. “That’s great!” he says, when I tell him my agent emailed and says a director wants me to work on his film and am I available. I am, I tell my agent, not saying that a month in advance is too far to have any idea what I’m doing at that time. But I’ll be available, whatever it is.
I have a wonderful son who fixes things and reboots the computer when I’m stumped with error messages and hauls things for me when I finally get out to the garden. And mows the lawn without being asked.
However, in other words, this morning, I’m finalizing a grant, and clearing out my email inbox (and doesn’t that sound fun), and checking on reservations and hotel amenities because we’re going out of town next week and I don’t want to have to pack a hairdryer, and getting bills lined up since we’re going out of town at the first of a new month, and really, really, endeavoring to reduce the piles of papers on this desk so I can somehow get to my writing desk in another room, and piled with more papers but no email inbox.
I love my life. I love sitting here in my muumuu because I can. I love knowing my time is free of interruptions. At least in the house. The phone’s another matter, but I can ignore it. That’s what answering machines are for. I especially love that in a few days I’ll be getting on an airplane and sitting for two and a half uninterrupted hours beside my husband. I’m not taking the laptop (although I will have the tablet and smart phone) or books (although I’ll have my journal), and the only email work I’ll do is checking my phone and deleting the ones I don’t have to deal with. Like news. Or fantastic-sale-buy now! announcements.
I try not to think about the digging out I’ll do when I return.
However, right now the inbox is managed; the email I have to keep track of highlighted, and the writing room beckons. That’s strip of light at the right side of the photo. I’m close…just a couple more pieces of paper first; oh, yeah, and find my glasses.