Alana: Leaving the slippers at home
“I did it!”… to quote my nearly-three-year-old (a phrase only surpassed by her favourite indignant statement “I do it!”)
I’m into my third week of writing (OK, I was being very optimistic with those ten hours a week — typically, just as I get an inch, Daisy takes away a mile and dropped her lunchtime sleep the EXACT week I get childcare for Poppy!). Anyway, I’m not going to moan — Daisy is settled in playschool, Poppy is adapting to the indignation of my minor abandonment, and I’ve had two weeks of writing three mornings a week.
What have I done? I’ve set up a website (all constructive criticism welcome!), written a submission for an anthology, sent three article pitches, made contact with a new magazine, and contributed to Starbucks’ world domination (I have to leave the house when Poppy’s childminder arrives and that great American institution taking over this small Emerald Isle does the best green tea…).
I have written. I have thought. I have pondered. I feel ten feet tall. Not only am I using my brain, I’m shaking the dust off those old workclothes. Yes, I know, I’m only going to sit in Starbucks with my notebook and pen, but it’s all part of the empowerment. I dress up as if going to work…because I am. This is real. This is job. I even wear lipstick.
There is something about leaving the house having washed first and wearing clothes without an elasticised waistline that makes it feel more real. I made a decision never to write in my slippers. No slipper scrolling for me. Slippers are for slouching. So proper shoes and proper clothes it must be. And a large mug of green tea. Life is almost perfect….