The Point of No Return
There is some quantum physics formula, some fulcrum . . . and I am on the side that is leaning precariously close to disaster. I am at the point of no return.
You see, I just spent five whirlwind days in NYC with my two-year-old (my godmother watched him, God bless her!). I met with my agent, had great meetings with editors, ate, drank and was merry in Manhattan, and flew home expecting to get to work.
BUT . . . when I leave for five days, there is something in the universe of my household that tips to the Dark Side. The three remaining children have no clean clothes, the fridge is empty, the house is leaning toward a disaster of Messy Proportions. So I expected to come home, clean like a crazy woman, and THEN get to work.
BUT . . . I got to the airport, and who should be standing there but my best friend in the entire universe. A sister to me, a soul friend. She tapped me on the shoulder and said, "Happy Birthday!" (It was my birthday on Friday.) She had come all the way from Florida to surprise me, and I burst into huge sobbing happy tears.
SO . . . she was here until this morning. That meant eating out, sightseeing (for my birthday, I chose to visit an old cemetery and also the Botannical Gardens) . . . more eating out, marathon sessions sitting on my ass on the couch with her watching movie after movie (Constantine, The Deep Blue, The Family Stone, Casino Royale).
And no cleaning.
SO . . . today is that day because though my desk is always cluttered, there reaches a point of no return after which I cannot write because I simply need some sort of peaceful order, some calm and tranquility. Some CLEANLINESS.
How about all of you? Is there some line in the sand about your house, your space, etc., beyond which you cannot write until you get it straight?
Peace,
E
You see, I just spent five whirlwind days in NYC with my two-year-old (my godmother watched him, God bless her!). I met with my agent, had great meetings with editors, ate, drank and was merry in Manhattan, and flew home expecting to get to work.
BUT . . . when I leave for five days, there is something in the universe of my household that tips to the Dark Side. The three remaining children have no clean clothes, the fridge is empty, the house is leaning toward a disaster of Messy Proportions. So I expected to come home, clean like a crazy woman, and THEN get to work.
BUT . . . I got to the airport, and who should be standing there but my best friend in the entire universe. A sister to me, a soul friend. She tapped me on the shoulder and said, "Happy Birthday!" (It was my birthday on Friday.) She had come all the way from Florida to surprise me, and I burst into huge sobbing happy tears.
SO . . . she was here until this morning. That meant eating out, sightseeing (for my birthday, I chose to visit an old cemetery and also the Botannical Gardens) . . . more eating out, marathon sessions sitting on my ass on the couch with her watching movie after movie (Constantine, The Deep Blue, The Family Stone, Casino Royale).
And no cleaning.
SO . . . today is that day because though my desk is always cluttered, there reaches a point of no return after which I cannot write because I simply need some sort of peaceful order, some calm and tranquility. Some CLEANLINESS.
How about all of you? Is there some line in the sand about your house, your space, etc., beyond which you cannot write until you get it straight?
Peace,
E
posted by Erica Orloff at 10:03 AM
11 Comments:
First off, happy birthday!!! Sounds like you had a wonderful time with your best friend--what a great present.
Second, definitely--I hit my breaking point this week and had to clean my desk, and I always make the kids help me clean before they go to their dad's so I have a clean house for two days (nice).
Hi Amie:
I can't not even imagine two clean days. :-)
However . . . After a LONG day spent cleaning . . . today I can write!
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DEAR ER--I--CA...HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU! :P
What a terrific surprise to have your friend there at the airport.
Re: point of no return. Sorta funny how priorities swing when you decide to take yourself semi-seriously. Less than a year ago, writing was a reward I'd give myself when EVERYTHING else was done. When floors shone, windows sparkled, every sock had a mate and there was a batch of freakin' muffins in the oven...then I was 'allowed' to sneak away for an hour. Now its more like "Who cares if you're wearing a red sock and a blue one? Both your feet are covered!"
Now the breaking point is always the biz stuff. When dh starts digging in my payable/recievable file (which I used to update daily and now do 1-2 times weekly) I HAVE to deal with it. He has a unique talent for losing ten important things in the search for one relatively unimportant thing. :)
Hi Lainey:
I used to be that way too. I don't bake muffins, but I used to want a pristine house. It felt serene to me. Four kids later, that has changed. Now just SOME degree of order. :-)
E
Sometimes I long for the 500 square foot lake cabin I lived in for two-and-a-half years after my divorce. I had no choice but to keep it clean and uncluttered. Otherwise, I wouldn't have been able to walk without tripping. Now I live alone (with my son here part time) in a fairly large house, and I feel like I need a maid.
I'm seriously thinking condo at this point.
Of course, when I get my seven-figure advance, I can have a maid here and a nice little loft in Manhattan. Well, maybe in Jersey anyway. :)
Jude:
I have a wonderful housekeeper come once a week. Other than that, I AM the maid. :-)
E
Happy Birthday! What cemetary did you go to? I wish we had more interesting cemetaries in Southern California.
I can deal with a messy house but as long as my desk is organized in the way that makes sense to me - e.g., it's cluttered with my story and research notes - then I'm okay. But it sounds like your home had reached epic proportions!
Cheers,
Mary
Erica, happy belated B'day wishes!
My breaking points:
My attention gravitates to the bills paid slot when it starts to overflow. The monitor fades into the background and that particular slot expands and grows as if it has a life of its own.
The writing side table--when the surface is less visible than not. The stacks nudge at my peripheral vision begging, pleading, and screaming for sorting.
When I appease those two demons, I can continue to face the inner ones that make it to the page.
Hi Mary:
Richmond has a cemetery called "Hollywood" (named for the holly trees there, not L.A.'s Hollywood. It's got a couple of presidents buried there, and lots of family plots from the 1800s. Angel statues. Very peaceful.
E
kathy:
I love that imagery "the monitor fades away." I totally can relate!
E
Belated Happy Birthday!! It sounds like you had a great one!
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