... and should finish and don't, now that I'm writing again. When I think of the passion I felt for the front garden until it was mostly done! but not quite done! I could use a tenth of it now for cleaning the house enough to hire somebody to clean the house.
In summer, and increasingly in fall, I identify with squirrels frantically storing food for the winter. In winter, I'll be too busy shoveling to paint, never mind that it's less pleasant to air out a room in January than in April. I don't have to paint a lot, but I gotta paint. And find cubbyholes to store presents for Christmas. And so on.
So I'm going to jettison some of the contest deadlines that always drive me to write. As soon as I'm done the current editing job, I am totally going to not write for as long as it takes to get this place whipped back into some semblance of shape.
Even though I know that the moment I've got three boxes of junk spread out on the floor is exactly when inspiration will strike for the perfect short story.