Just a few more words. Just a few more minutes. It’s only dinner, surely Little Person can make it for herself? (Answer: no.) If you just give me a chance to finish with this one last thought, I’ll be there, and I promise this time I really will fold all the laundry. Every last bit of it.
If I thought about alcohol the way I think about reading and writing, I would have been packed off to a rehab centre a long time ago.
But I pull myself together, and make the food, and sort of fold the laundry, and then I’m back at the computer, tap-tap-tapping away. Even if my eyes are sore and I have a headache. Because the words won’t stop.
And I wouldn’t trade it for the world. (Not even the laundry – gives me time to wrestle plot points, you see.)