And they thought I didn't procrastinate!

Driving around, taking photos, reading blogs, walking around RV shows for hours on end, etc. are more fun than work, but. . .

It's time, I think, to do more than just blog and write an occasional poem or Fib.

It's time, I think, to do more than just play in my office and walk past the neglected house.

It's time, I think, to do more than just scheme in my head and not on paper.

My novel is calling my name, Scrabble wants to once again be my game.

Lists are tired of only being made for Thursday Thirteen.

Recipe books never read want to spill into my head.

(and apparently a rhyme or two wants to spill out at you)

The play we said we would write together was never started and is threatening to run away and find somewhere else to play.

The beads still sit in unpainted wooden boxes.

My shawl seems to have gone into a suspended state as needles lay still.

The hat I started remains half finished.

Ink sits still securely packaged, separated from its intended home.

Cards are unsent, words printed on paper no longer hold true.

Frames stack on shelves neglected, photos remain homeless.

Books stand tall on their shelves, but dust collects to weigh down their sadness at being unread.

And worst of all, the carpet on my stairs remains intact, bare spots never created by my exercise intentions that fizzled out.

However, the sparkle is still lit in my open blue eyes,
a smile is still flits across my face
and tomorrow appears to be a day for beginning
the cycle of accomplishment again.

Unless I fall into browsing the blogs and learning some more
about that that I don't want to ignore.

It appears as procrastination, but in fact it is deep concentration. . .
just not always on the 'right' things.