I am enjoying my time off from work. It’s giving me back my time, my exercise time and more importantly, my writing time.
A little girl across the way screeches at her father and the two men he is talking with on the porch. She roars and slams the door. They continue talking, so she opens the door yells something unintelligible, roars some more and slams the door. Now she holds a pink, balloon animal and roars. That did it. Her father tells her to stay inside and he closes the door. Let’s see if this works.
There are other noises, of course. The siren from busy fire truck, the traffic rushing by are a few. But the worst one is coming from my wall clock. The pendulum is in a spasm and makes a high-pitched squeak. To take the clock down and try to soothe it will have to be my next task. I really want to write though. I’m a little rusty.
I have to ease my way back into this blogging thing and make it a habit. I love reading blogs. I’m compelled to create sound arguments for my opinions and they force me to deal with the issues that plague my writing, such as comma use. I know how to use commas, but when I write my first drafts, my comma use takes a back seat. I get too excited. Maybe that is what’s up with the pendulum—maybe it’s just dancing.
The little girl runs out the front door and hugs the two men before her father can lift her up and carry her back inside and close the door. Yeah, he has his hands full.
