I’ve heard a friend or two say that they have old age onset ADD. I guess that, in the land of initials, that would be OAOADD, which sounds too much like the “Old MacDonald” refrain to me.
Initially I plugged into the concept, especially when confronted near daily with my wandering teacup. OhMyOhMeOhMyOh.
Being a writer is the ultimate stay-at-home, non-commute job. All that is required, after making a pot of tea, is a walk to a turned-on computer and, well, hope that the mind is turned on. Hot tea is a brilliant enabler.
But thinking – and being mindful of good health – requires the occasional walkabout. Stretch the legs, unbend the back, and change the scenery both inside and out. A new vista often engenders a new point-of-view and, perhaps, a few hundred words of deathless prose. OhPleaseIPrayOhGodOh.
Our home is especially amenable to the walkabout. It has a circular floor pattern among the main rooms, including my angular home office. There is also the Mac Air with a view of ‘out there’ framed by floor-to-ceiling windows.
A few tables, desks, and counters of various lengths and sizes, deftly piled and assiduously cluttered, distributed throughout… we live here, we create, we exert. Sometimes pieces and papers get nestled beside each other, well, closely, loosely.
Sometimes, me thinks, papers dive under on their own…Okay, while we are not hoarders, we are pilers; our home can be a mess about.
So that I’m often walking round again, after the refreshing walkabout, in search of a half-empty mug of tea.
It’s not because my home or my mind is cluttered like the floor after a New Year’s party – OhNoOhNoOhNoOh!
It’s because the free time of my life flutters by like the tiny bits of confetti – and so, it seems easy to fritter it away.