The Job

Occasionally, when you sit down to write, you realize that you need to trim your jagged, ugly fingernails (why do you let them grow out sideways like that?).

And you haven’t ordered the things off the Internet (you should do it before you forget).

Plus, you remember that your kids left pans in the sink with bits of egg on them (those bits are crusting, will grow mold soon, probably not, but maybe).

Then, of course, the afternoon marches toward you with one raised eyebrow (and there are words somewhere, but they’re knotted up in vague little hairballs).

And you could scream (but it never helps).

2 thoughts on “The Job

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