If Writing were Boring, My House Would be Tidy

The trouble with housework is that it is so boring. The same loo to clean over and over again. The same clothes to fold and put away. The same hoover sucking up an endless supply of Cheerios.

I know I should take pride in my home - I am lucky enough to have a nice one that doesn't leak - but, oh, the drudgery of keeping it clean (let alone tidy). Himself, who is repsonsible for manly things like building patios, doesn't see the problem. He doesn't realise that once he's finished the patio, he gets to stand back and admire it. He never has to do it again. He's never imagined having to get down and mortar those paving slabs every day for the rest of his life.

I am always craving the time to write, to be creative, to make something new, something I can stand back from and admire. Something that I can finish. I do stall sometimes when I'm writing; I get the occasional, "I can't do this. I'm fed up," but that's only because I can't do it, not because I don't want to do it. I never find myself saying, "Oh, I've had enough of this, I'd so much rather be ironing."

I sometimes wonder how long I would have to write, before I got bored with it.