goes by in a blur

Time. This weekend.
Between the pre-writing procrastination, -doing the actual writing,- wandering about the kitchen looking for something decent to eat,- the cat bugging me, and my bugging the cat,- Cheese researching auras on the internet, staring at me, and talking about it,-and the necessity of some domesticity, I feel the weekend wasn't. I know it used to be Friday, and now it is Monday, but I didn't feel any Saturday or Sunday. And the week will march on in much the same way. I have never before spent so much time, so many days in a row, working on trying to write something, the process, the thoughts seem to be filling all my days, whether I am writing at any given moment or not. I have never watched so little television. I have never spent so much time with the cat. I thought of Thanksgiving yesterday in terms of the writing I need to get done that day, and would I come home and do it after the family gathering, or should I try to do it in the morning, or should I take the day off, and split the word count between the day before it and the day after? Strange for me, but good I think, as it gives me focus and direction, forward momentum, something I am naturally lacking in.

I am off to go blog visiting. Do several loads of wash. See if I can find some info on mute swans attacking people, and then onto the tic tap tapping of typing keys.

Oh but first how about a music list ipod poem
scrolling down to S

So far away
so into you
so nice
somebody loves you


summer breeze
sunday morning
sweet baby
sweet seasons
sweet surrender
sweet thing
symptoms of true love