The coffee’s at the ideal drinking temperature. The oatmeal, eaten.
Laundry piles wait folding or putting away, but I type instead. I write much of my work when other work waits, so really my art my creative outlet is really a procrastination tool. Does that keep me from taking it seriously? I think that might be true. I don’t think of my writing as “real” or “any good” unless someone else validates it for me, which is a problem.
So I’ll write a bit more and then get to work. In that way, I trade one procrastination for another. I’ll put off writing for a made bed, an empty hallway, a crowded mind.