I have this really weird quirk about my writing process that a lot of people don’t really know about, unless they’re in my NaNo region: I can’t write when my room is messy. Messy rooms stress me out. It’s a weird cyclical thing to be honest. Because most of the time when my room spirals out of control like that, it’s either because I’m really stressed, or I’m really sick.
This week the messy room was a consequence of the latter (and working thirds, but mostly just being sick). This wouldn’t normally be a a big deal, but I can’t write when my room is messy. When I’m writing and my room is a mess, all my brain zeroes in on is how filthy the place is and how much better off I’d be if the room was clean. It is the death of me during NaNoWriMo.
This only happens when I write. Under any other circumstances, I’d be able to let it slide for a month, month and a half before I forced myself to deal with it; but no, when I’m writing, nothing gets done until my room is a livable space again.
Depending on if and/or when my Dad wants to see the new Peanuts movie, I may pick up all the garbage on my floor today. I’ve done away with all the stray Kleenex’s and all my dirty laundry is someplace other than my dirty laundry bag that also needs to be washed, so that at least takes care of half the battle. If not, I don’t work tonight, so I can always work on that tomorrow morning before I leave for the write-in I’m hosting in town.
Messy rooms suck. Meh.
To cleaning and then kicking off from where I left off two days ago (because I spent yet another day being so miserable from being sick that I spent nearly the entire day in bed).