The potential for work on a long, free-form Saturday pulled me out of bed at 7 am.

My first impulse was to walk to Earth Café to write for an hour because this is always a successful strategy for me.

But Chris woke up before I could leave the house and his presence triggered indecision. He made a double espresso that smelled pretty good.

“Want coffee?” he said, and now I was torn between my desire to get out of the house, which gets me writing, and new desires.

The New York Times pulled focus, especially an article on self-improvement. Before I knew it my plans had changed. I would stay home and save money, I decided, but this triggered new thoughts, like doing the laundry or working on the paper valentines I started stitching together last night.

By now I know better: mornings are for writing. But what to write? I hadn’t planned it out in advance and the possibilities threatened to overwhelm me.

A blog post?

My book?

Paycheck work?

My son captured this problem perfectly in an unfinished piece he wrote in 4th grade:

Arrrrrgh!!!
by Ingo

Yesterday I did something that I love to do, but hate after. I got a piece of paper, a pencil, and I drew comic characters. Now, you may wonder why I hate it after. I hate it because of the possibilities...

Yes, the possibilities! I love and dread them because it brings up fear: fear of disappointment; fear I'll waste my life.

I put my problem to the scheduler.

“What are you doing today?”

“I’m going to work at home starting at 9 am.”

Such a clear-cut plan! I decided to glom onto it before drifting further astray, but first I had to finish reading the long self-improvement article, which took me until almost nine, and then I did the dishes because he made the coffee.

So here I am, writing, at 10 am.

I am a work in progress.