The
trouble with this is that I only have room in my life for one at a
time. This can lead to some serious inner tension and often I feel as
if the two are fighting for my attention. If I were a dishonest man
then writing would be my loving wife and cleaning would be my
mistress, always in my ear about how I should forget my beloved and
spend more time with her.
Unfortunately
as soon as I even smell a hint of writers block coming on then the
mistress' voice becomes louder and more threatening until eventually
I drop to my knees and surrender...to scrubbing the floor. It's like
she knows when I am weak and pounces. I'll be tap, tap, tapping away
at the computer until the gaps between taps start to lengthen and I
find myself staring at the dust on the window ledges. Then BAM! The
dirt is gone; my window ledges outshone only by the glaring white of
the empty document open on the computer screen.
Don't
think I haven't tried being honest with them. I just can't face
having them both at once- not to say I haven't thought about it. It
would never work though. Once my mind is set on either writing or
housework then I am fully devoted to the task at hand. Keeping the
balance however, has been proving rather tricky of late.
As
keeping a mistress is easier than pleasing a wife, housework is
easier for me to get around to than writing. All a mistress needs is
a nice pair of earrings and a word of praise from time to time. Much
like the kitchen needs a good Spray'nWipe every few days. The wife on
the other hand, has far more complex needs. You can never be sure
that she is actually fine when she says she is. Similar to a piece of
writing that at first glance seems okay but on the second read
through reveals more grammatical errors than a Bebo wall.
Favouring
the easy route has ensured that I have a very clean apartment- aside
that is, from the dust gathered on top of my closed computer. Never
is the saying, ‘out of sight, out of mind’ more true than when
one is trying to procrastinate. Luckily for my mistress, it's a lot
harder to hide a pile of dirty dishes than it is to slip a laptop
under the bed.
Perhaps
this is why so many famed writers favour the disheveled look. Unlike
me, yet to make a living from writing, these characters have ignored
the voices telling them to put the washing on, mop the floors,
shower. If I did the same then perhaps I too would have a couple of
Pulitzer Prize winning novels under my belt.
Don't
get me wrong, I do love to write- just as a cheating husband often
still loves his wife. The real issue plaguing the relationship always
comes down to the 'O' word: Obligation. As soon as I feel obligated
to put pen to paper my mind wanders. I start to think dirty thoughts
like 'My, the shower is
dirty, better get cleaning'
or 'Is that a dirty sock
on the floor? Must be time to put a wash on'
and so on.
I can
probably put this affliction back on my upbringing somehow. Isn't
that what so many men do? Reason that their failure to maintain a
monogamous relationship is purely because their father set a bad
example for them as a child? Going by this rule then the blame for my
inner turmoil can sit squarely on my mother's shoulders.
The
woman doesn't stop. No sooner has a glass left my lips before she has
whipped it away, into the dishwasher before I can set it down and
create a watermark on the table. I never thought anything of her
two-loads-of-laundry-a-day policy. That is until I moved out into the
real world. Clearly I still carry these scars from childhood. If only
I found a half written article as distressing as a pile of unfolded
shirts...
At
least I got that off my chest. Nothing like a confessional monologue
to get the creative juices flowing. And finally on that note, I
probably should admit that this was written only after two loads of
dishes, one batch of home cooked muesli, one trip to the supermarket
and a thorough dust busting session.
I need
help.
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