banks, banks, banks, banks....

No, not banks as in financial institutions (although I could rant about those for awhile). I'm chanting Banks- Banks- Banks as in Steven Banks. If you don't know what I'm talking about you must check it out. Years ago my dad taped (yes, taped, not dvr'd) a comedy sketch about a distractible, talented, but stuck in the hum drum of life kind of guy. He is supposed to be working on a report for his boss, but everything in his apartment is distracting him. It's hilarious and often quoted around my house.

Anyway, the point is, I often find myself in Banks-mode when I sit down to work on my writing. Recently my youngest started play school two days a week and I imagined my writing soaring to new heights-- but (and what a big but it is too (ha ha, I love Pee Wee Herman too!)) you know how these things go. Last week was the start of a new me, more inspired writing me. Monday evening, the night before my first day of freedom, one of my children was coughing all night and two of them woke up with runny noses. I sent them to school anyway.

I got to the library, yeah! I returned my books on time. I got a coffee and settled down at my table. I had my notes ready and I typed two brilliant sentences.... (here it comes, brace yourself. You know this all sounds too good, something horrible is just around the corner--) my phone rings!

I'm panicked. Is it the play school? Is my baby ravaged with fever and rashes? Is it the kindergarten? Are the other two throwing up? No, it's my husband. He is at the Emergency Room and needs me to pick him up. Of course, I'm angry. I JUST SAT DOWN... But, he is in the ER. Oh, fine! I'll go pick him up.

When I get there, he meanders to the car and asks if I want to go get some breakfast? You're kidding me right? You just left the ER and you want to go eat? Isn't this what got you sent to the ER in the first place? (I should clarify- the ER in Singapore is abused. It's a quick way to see the doctor and get your Medical Certificate that will give you a day or two off of work).

I just wanted to throw my hands  in the air and shout, "I can't work like this!" It's how I felt. Instead, I told him we could go to a certain cafe, but he had to ignore me for two hours. And you know what? I got tons accomplished in that tiny window of time. And two days after that, my second day of abandonment, I took my daughter who was home with an ear infection, out to a coffee shop and did the same thing. I gave her the i-Pad and said, "Ignore Mommy for the next two hours."

She did. She made videos of everyone who was sitting near us and learned about all kinds of triangles from a new app.

It's easy to throw in the towel when things don't go as planned. It's equally easy to come up with an alternative. My work from those two days and all the other unplanned moments have added up to an 27,000 word count. Not bad.


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