I Should Be Writing

I should be writing.

I should be writing instead of mending battered old socks that can be mended at any time.

I should be writing instead of watching a chickadee get stuck in the screen house in the backyard, flapping back and forth between three walls, comically missing the wide-open quarter of the structure that allowed its entry. Not too stressed; just doing its work. Solving its problems. It will learn from this, I nod to myself. It’ll get out soon.

The chickadee escapes after a few dreadful minutes.

Watching a kitten watch a squirrel, 2022

I should be writing, though.

I should be writing instead of making granola from scratch. Granola can be bought! It can also be cooked early in the morning, or late at night, or any time when the inspiration to write isn’t so strong. Melting coconut oil and honey on the stove, dumping cinnamon and salt and nutmeg into the pot and inhaling the perfume…

I should be writing instead.

I should be writing instead of checking the status on a parcel that I ordered from the UK. A backpack that I ordered to take with me on my first plane trip in 18 years. A plane trip back to the place I once lived: two tumultuous and enlightening years by the sea. This beautiful bag represents all of that. The parcel’s been handed off to the country of origin. That’s Canada! Brilliant. Now what?

I should be writing instead of watching my kid watch cartoons.

Eternally staring at my child, 2022

I should be writing instead of listening to the sound of the washer and dryer running, cleaning cozy flannel bedding for the winter. Snow squalls are in the forecast for tonight.

I should be writing instead of stirring the granola in a nice steel bowl, then staring at the darning needle and wondering if I should get back to that old, grey wool sock.

Instead of biting my nails.

Instead of vacuuming stairs.

Instead of clicking like, like, like.

Instead of remembering my dreams.

Instead of wondering.

Instead of thinking…

I should be writing this down.