Boring boring boring

Saturdays in my house are really boring.

I’d really like to stamp my feet, and stomp up and down the corridor in a flumpy-footed manner… Sometimes I’d just like to behave badly and shout, and stamp a bit more. But I don’t because I understand; I do so hate seeing both sides of any story.

When you’ve been out all week in the office – or worse still – travelling to offices in other countries, or going off to school, you want some down time, yeah? You want some slouching about in your fisherman’s pants? In Husband’s case he wants to play ‘world domination’ games on his computer; Son wants to do any kind of slouching that isn’t homework and Daughter today wants to be moving everything to her new bedroom, so not exactly slouching, but definitely nesting.

But me, well apart from Thursday when I got to adorn myself in my gladrags and socialise, I’ve been home writing and stuff all week. So now I want to go out with my family … but they don’t.

*Sigh*

I’ve written 300 words today. It’s taken me all day – why am I so slow?

Edit, Edit, Contextualise

Having missed out on Messages, I started work on a piece of writing at the weekend for War Child. It was based on a letter I wrote two years ago to my best friend, the High Priestess of Punk-chew-ation, which made her laugh a lot. It was a single incident about facing fears and the power and strength you feel afterwards. I had to put it into context and make it less aimed at her.

And what do you know? As I contextualised the story, I wrote away every single funny bit and it turned into the most boring piece of writing I’d ever seen.

*sigh*