I would like to relax and write this weekend but it is not looking promising. The problem with sharing an apartment with your sister, two kids and a dog, is that there is no such thing as solitude. Every time I pick up a pen or open my laptop, at least one of them comes into my room where I am attempting to write. My youngest daughter is bored. The older one wants me to work on Bittersweet, the novel to go along with the TV pilot that I wrote and which she loves. I love it, too, but it’s a lot of pressure. I can’t rush it because then I’ll ruin it and I certainly don’t want to do that. I feel guilty to write anything else, though.
Throw the dog into the mix and it gets even more ridiculous. She is every bit as bad as the girls. She hates it when I write. She’ll run over and put her head on the keyboard to keep me from typing. It’s crazy. My sister is the only one who is supportive, but funny thing, she doesn’t want to take the girls and the dog out. Not that I can blame her. The girls want to go shopping and Charlie will not pass as a service dog, that’s for sure.
The real kicker is that if I put this away and just sat here, they wouldn’t come in at all. I’d be bored out of my mind, but…
Oh well, I guess there are worse problems in the world. I love my kids and even that shedding, crazy, constant attention grabbing dog.