I don’t normally worry about the state of my house. Not ever. Housework is way way down on my list of priorities. So how comes that’s all changed now it’s NaNoTime?
On Sunday I wrote 2000 words then cleaned my front room from top to bottom. As a sort of penance. I even did the skirting boards, and anyone who knows me will know that I don’t do that sort of thing. The skirting now thinks that I’ve been bodysnatched by some alien or Stepford-wifed into some kind of robot; the door to the front room keeps eyeing me nervously wondering if it’s next.
It’s the same deal with the kids and husband (who all come much higher on my list of priorities you’ll be glad to hear). I’m making extra efforts to do stuff with them when this is the one month in the year when they’ve agreed to let me have some space. What is wrong with me?
On the plus side, I might come out the other side of November with half a novel, a happy, well-balanced family and a very very clean house.
I have to go now, I’ve written 2,800 words today and must atone for my sins by washing up.
Anyone else experiencing this? Or better still, anyone have a cure?