It’s week 6, 7 or 8 – somewhere along the line, my weeks have got out of sync with the ‘official’ ones, but maybe that’s partly because I voted with my feet, or dug my heels in, and decided to work from home as soon as I realised how bad things were instead of waiting to be told to do so.
Working from home is still suiting me quite well except that I’ve realised over the past few weeks that I am not so enthused by the ‘work’ aspect of it. The non-work days of the week, all 3.5 of them, are much closer to my idea of how to spend my time. It isn’t that I don’t do anything on those days. I spend quite a lot of time writing, particularly now that I’ve started the next book in my historical series, which I’m really enjoying. Every so often a book like this comes along and seems to write itself. I don’t think these books come from some deep well of creativity, and they certainly don’t plumb the depths of human nature or say anything profound, but they are more fun to write than the ones where you don’t know where the next sentence will come from and have to resort to trickery to keep yourself writing.
Apart from writing, I also have an editing project in hand for the book before that one in the series, and a sewing project which is top secret at the moment, but for which there may be photographic evidence at a later date. I am in the conservatory all day most days and staring out at the garden, so I have lots of thoughts on things to do there but very little stamina to do them. So far I’ve re-arranged flower-pots and swept the steps. It doesn’t help that due to a long-running feud with some neighbours I don’t like going out in the garden when they’re about in case they start haranguing me again.