For the past few months, I’ve been writing my dispatches at the day’s end. I have been so tired that I could hardly think. Most have been a series of recollections about the day’s events. I’ve written the rest, conversations with the various animals, as a last resort, when thinking piecemeal is the only option. No wonder, then, that the former sound like diary entries and the latter like failed attempts at channeling.

I may now be back to writing mid-morning dispatches. These differ from the evening dispatches in that they are less of a this happened, then that happened sort of thing and more of a this is what is going on now.

Procrastination. A short while ago I stood

Rest Stop. By Jackie

before the writing judge, the high arbitrator of the composing process, and pleaded guilty to the charge of abandoning my work.

My rather flimsy excuse was that I’d spent the past two months getting my writing life back in order. And when it was back in order, I began doing related things, like looking up books on e-bay.

The judge told me that procrastination is procrastination, and there is no getting around it. The first task that I embarked upon may have been writing-related, but it was still procrastination. I agreed with him that I should have divvied up my allotted time and both reorganized my written and computer files and gotten some work done.

I told the judge that I had resumed working on If Wishes were Horses and hoped to have the copy editing changes Pete recommended in place by June 19, 2020. He said good, and then he gave me my sentence: I am to refrain from doing community service work. This means no Bright Lights work until I get done with my part of If Wishes were Horses and If You come to a Fork in the Road Pick it Up.

I agreed, then had my final say. I told the judge that today I resumed working on If Wishes were Horses. I have to say, it feels good. The tough part is that a lot is going undone that needs to get done. As we speak, the cow parsnip is growing, and the hemp weed nettle is proliferating. And Pete, I am sure, could use a hand with the weeding.

I wonder sometimes how others can be so prolific. I’m sure, they, like me, have supportive partners who take on most of the domestic chores. And some might also have animals and animal-related interests. They just must have no qualms about letting things go.

I’ll most likely feel less regretful about my organizational tear after my trip, when fall comes around and the days are again shorter. Then I’ll resume sending work out. And it will be easy to find. I will then simply call this time of my life “The Lost Spring.”

All the time I spoke, the judge kept nodding in agreement. His final words in parting were “stop going back and forth and get back to work.” I thanked him and then did as he said.

Next: 159. 6/8/20: Enough!