Excuses, Excuses


If only I didn’t drink that extra glass of wine last night, then I’d feel better and be able to concentrate.

If only I could write while I drank, that would be awesome. Damn. That’d be awesome.

If only my daughter could put her own Elsa shoes on instead of sticking her foot in my face when I’m on the couch with my computer.

If only my son didn’t have sight words to work on at night, but thank God my mother makes the flash cards for him and sends them to me in the mail, even though she lives 30 minutes away.

If only my dog didn’t whine at me right when I sit down and start going, and, man, I was really going and then that damn dog.

If only the dryer didn’t beep right when I sat down, and I can’t leave the clothes in there because they’ll wrinkle.

If only I didn’t dread hanging clothes even more than I dread folding them.

If only the musical numbers on Sophia the First weren’t so oddly matched to the cartoon and unbelievably annoying, therefore distracting.

If only I didn’t have this little back injury that makes sitting for too long incredibly uncomfortable.

If only my pain meds actually relieved my pain instead of making me feel like a zombie with a back problem. Or just a zombie, as all zombies appear to have back problems.

If only these pain meds would give me a buzz like other people seem to get but I have never experienced, and I could write like that. Damn. That’d be awesome.

If only I didn’t think I had some pain med resistance and stopped to google if there is such a thing while I was revising that story.

If only that one student who sent me a message asking why he got a zero would understand that I have over sixty students and that he needs to tell me exactly what assignment he is talking about because I do not have the time to scour the gradebook for a zero, because he probably has more than one.

If only I wasn’t teaching classes with students who actually cared and sometimes text me questions about an assignment at 8 in the morning when I was about to revise that story.

If only when I started to write a story that the story would actually come out like it feels in my head when I can kind of envision it as this perfect thing except it doesn’t come out that way and I have no idea why it looks so flawless in my brain but wont turn into the thing I just know could be this amazing moving thing that wont let the reader stop reading until the very end when they take the breath they didn’t know they were holding and we all feel something real.

If only life would stop interrupting.

If only all conditions were perfect.

If only I didn’t know better.


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