I have to get ready for a show.
I have a pretty big show today and I’m not ready.
I got all the other readers to confirm that they will, in fact, show up. I made the programs, set the order, collected bios. The Chronicle says they’ll be there. It’s already mentioned in the Press. I know what I’m going to wear.
The only thing I have left to do is pack my little bag. Oh… and write my piece.
I haven’t written my piece yet. The piece I’m gonna read today, I mean. This show is for Day of the Dead, so I planned to write something about my aunt, who died this summer. I already told everybody that’s what I’m going to read about.
I wrote notes for the piece Thursday morning, in the car, on my Pocket PC while my son Josh and I waited for the first bell at his junior high to ring. Now I just need to write the piece.
Thursday morning I felt so ready to write it. Yesterday afternoon, sitting at my desk while my boss stalked back and forth behind me, I felt so ready to write it. Last night while my kids and I trick-or-treated ourselves into exhaustion, I was ready to write it.
I left it until this morning, and now I don’t feel ready.
All week I encouraged, cajoled and nagged the other readers to jot down those pieces they wanted to write, last-minute, for the show.
I have to write my piece right now.
But first, I will load the dishwasher, put on some laundry, put on a bra, feed my kids and update my events page so it’s current.
No…. No, Gwen. Write your piece now.
