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It’s nine-thirty-three p.m. and I was about to go night-night, when I thought.

What?

Oh, you thought that was an incomplete sentence, didn’t you?

Surprise! That was it.

I thought. Period. An achievement for me at nine-thirty, well into my brain’s auto-shutdown cycle.

Tonight it doubles as reflect-on-my-day time.  I stare into the fire (in the fireplace, thank you) and do a semi-conscious tally of achievements for the day. I am not happy! “Why is that?” I wonder.

The answer comes to me. It’s because I did not achieve my personal goals for the day. I feel like a slug. My regular sporadic when-the-mood-and-muse-strike Monday post did not publish today because someone moved my cheese.

I could blame it on my husband.

I sat at my computer this morning, sipping java, taking advantage of my most creative, productive time of the day. He arrived unannounced with a pained expression and the (gasp!) MasterCard bill. I have those billing cycles down (or so I thought). Stay within balance tolerance levels. Step away from the shops until the card cycles again. Run card back up to balance tolerance level (usually takes a few days). For the record, MasterCard cheated and did not cut off the billing cycle when they should have. A pox upon them.

He also carried a nifty piece of paper from his scratch pad. (I forgot to buy “Blah, Blah, Blah” yellow pop-up notes for his stocking this year.) I knew what that piece of paper meant. It was his list of post-Christmas tasks. His to-do list for me.

Before anyone goes all “the nerve of that guy” on me, there are three things you should know.

  1. I emphatically expressed that opinion for you. You’re welcome.
  2. He’s a retired Police Chief. He used to boss around manage hundreds of officers. Now he has only me. (I am accepting job applications for anyone willing to be his designated managee.)
  3. Had you known me during my wild-child days, you would be shocked to discover I married a cop.

I huffed suggested he take his list and stuff redefine it as things he would like done for the week. That way, I could slide those items into my own priorities. He agreed. He left.

Photo: Heinz Kluetmeier/SI.com

Alone again, I chose not to look up and see I still wore my creative cheese on my head. I chose not to embrace the notion that this remained my day, my thoughts, my choices, my creativity.

I did not give myself a big thumb’s up for salvaging most of the free time left in my day.

I didn’t decide (as I often do) to ignore his list until I dang well felt like it. Or, until the nag-versus-reward scale tipped in his favor. I suspect it was MasterCard Balance Guilt Complex.

I chose to take care of the items on the list. My day was shot anyway.

Shot? At 7:45 a.m.?

Yup! Gone. I chose to believe I could not get back to my happy place where fun, creative things happen. I chose to let the five-by-seven inch piece of paper with scribbled notes become a POSTER of PROOF my day would be a dull regimen of boring tasks.

I CAN'T SEE MY CHEESE!

MEET SOPHIE ST-LAURENT.

Like Carole St-Laurent’s Sophie, I chose to cover my creative cheese with hubby’s left-brained and organized hat. I chose to adopt his mood. Like Sophie, I did not like the new picture of my day. Like Sophie, I let those few minutes snatch my happy.

Unlike Sophie, I didn’t shake that hat off my head, accept a treat for having endured the glee-killer, and go on about my day.

I ponder my role in my crappy non-stellar day.

Better yet, I think solutions. A way to rescue my day. So! Here is the essence of the self-talk I have with myself.

What happens if your not-so-regular Monday post goes up on Tuesday? Why can’t you start now? Tonight? What’s wrong with that, huh? You will have a beginning for your post in the morning. You will not go to bed feeling as if the day grew legs and ran away from you.

Welcome to YEBBITVILLE. Drive carefully. Speed bumps!

“Yebbit, my brain is all wonky this late. I might write something stupid.”

NOTE: Yes, I know I do that frequently. Thank you for noticing.

AHA! You are letting editing butcher your creativity–just as Kristen Lamb described in a recent blog post. Click here if you want a kick in the rear into gear from Kristen.

So what if my brain cells are wonky and snoozy? So what if I have to edit what I wrote?

I chose to jump in the ball pit and do a Sheldon “bazinga” with my brain cells.

What you have before you today is an edited version of my Bazinga Play last night. Enjoy the video, hang around and leave a comment.

SHARE YOUR OWN TALES OF VICTORY OR SELF-INDUCED-GLEE-DEPRIVATION OVER CHEESE (LIFE) THAT IS A CONSTANT INCONSISTENCY IN OUR LIVES. INQUIRING MINDS AND ALL THAT JAZZ.