Reaping...

Why did I stop doing nursery Sunday mornings? Because I needed wiggle time if I was going to be spending an entire evening in a writing class. When do I go to church? Sunday evening.

When do I have time to do my homework for my class? Sunday mornings. I did many things on the not-to-do list: I checked my email. I wandered blogland. I wrote a short email to a friend. I wrote a long email to a friend. I checked all my email accounts. I emptied my i-spam box. I watched Jerry Falwell (which actually was a good idea, because it got me to stop fidgeting.) (I had no idea it was Jerry Falwell until the end.) I checked my email again.

Things I did not do: I did not google myself. I did not take out the trash, listen to NPR, visit NYTimes.com, organize my spice rack (should I get one?), or decide to floss.

Finally, fed up with my place in life (the place that cannot get Charles Osgood on CBS Sunday Morning) I read January in May I have this Dance? by Joyce Rupp. And somewhere in the middle of the road, I put the book down and did my homework. Now I'm going to watch Sliding Doors. After I de-spy my computer. Arrivaderci! (Au revoir!)

My homework, for those of you who would like to take my writing class too: A man takes lunch to his wife's office, where he's told she hasn't worked there in weeks. --from The Writer's Book of Matches.