Quotidiandose does not own copyrights to this image.

Quotidiandose does not own copyrights to this image.


Daydream Believer 

It’s been one of those days. You know the ones I mean, the days when nothing seems to go right, when even the smallest task seems to take forever because some little minor thing goes wrong.  I tried to write a blog post, nothing showed up in the text box. I had typed nearly 200 words before I looked at my blank white box and asked  ‘ What the heck?’

I tackled the dishes that were left from last night –  because last night I had other things to do besides housekeeping.  The  dishwasher hadn’t been emptied, therefore that had to be done first. The  dish drainer was full of those hand-washed items.  Would someone please tell me why those brownies boycott my house?   Where are they when you need them or do they only go to the cobbler’s house?  When I ran the water in the sink to rinse off the dishes, and soak a few because, well, I had let them sit overnight and marinara sauce forms a  sort of organic based BONDO.

The plug that fits down in the sink?  Yeah,  it broke and the sink won’t hold water now.

After running far more water than I had planned to, I had two baskets of clean laundry that needed to be sorted and put away.  Then, well  I’m sure that nearly  every one of you are familiar with the routine.  The domestic duties never cease.  The counter top remains clean until someone needs a drink, then a snack.  Before you know it that one glass has multiplied into 5 glasses,  3 coffee cups, 4 plates, a saucepan, a skillet, silverware,  a pitcher with tea residue in it, and who in the world got  out the muffin pan and why is it covered in some greasy slime?

This is when  the daydreaming begins:  The tropical beach calling our names, the palm trees swaying a rhythmic chant while  a lone sailboat drifts calmly across crystalline waters, some guy named Javier in a tropical shirt and pale blue shorts bearing fruity drinks with tiny umbrellas . . .

“MOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMM”  The record scratches across the mental vinyl as I glance at my daughter with her hands on her hips.  ” I’ve been talking to you for  the last ten minutes and you didn’t listen to a thing I said.”  The lip goes out, the arms cross over her chest, the furrow in her brow deepens as her teeth are now clenched.

“What?  I’m sorry I was just thinking.”  As I scrub harder on the greasy muffin pan, I turn angled  to where I can see her as she repeats  for me.  It’s never a life threatening matter.  It’s never  a real emergency, but when they want your attention they want it undivided.   I can be a very good listener, but when I am daydreaming about somewhere I’d rather go, . . . sorry what were we talking about again?

After tackling the chores that  needed the most attention, and hearing my daughter tell me about her latest dissection in biology class and the guy that sits at her table that she had to take over  dissecting because he was squeamish, and how he  acted like he was about to kiss her, she grabbed yet another glass because  apparently no one besides me reuses their glass when all they had in it was water.  Content now that I’d listened to the high and low point of her day, I had  approximately 45 minutes  of so-called free time.

I don’t know how the rest of the world views this free time but for me it’s the  small snippets of time that are  for writing, or writing related activities such as  reading and research.  I grabbed myself a glass of tea, and  went outside in the glorious sunshine with pens and notepad in hand.  Ahhhhhhhh!

The sun warming my skin reminded me that next time I should use some sunscreen.   I managed to jot down key points for 3 scenes,  with my wind chimes tinkling in the background before my daughter found me.  Oh well, it’s time to prepare dinner anyway.

Perhaps one night we can manage to  bring our glass of wine to the patio and maybe light a fire in the fire pit.  OOH!  I should buy some graham crackers, chocolate bars and marshmallows and maybe even some  hot dogs and we’ll have ourselves a wiener roast over the open fire for our dinner on the patio!

Right, tomorrow’s agenda includes a trip to the grocery store.  Where are those delivery boys when you need them Vicki?

What do you daydream about?  Do you enjoy being the domestic goddess or  are they chores to you?  I think y’all know quite well that if I had my way I’d be prosperous enough to hire a housekeeper!  Only problem is, I’d have to clean before they got here.  Ironic, I know!

Write on my friends,  and don’t forget to dream today!