For those of you writers out there, this is for you, I hope that this resonates with you on some level. :)

I arrived home from college a week ago, and in between my sleeping, relaxing, and my utter lack of school work, (which is still throwing me for a loop) I have been writing. I really have not had the motivation to do anything else. Cleaning is one of those things. I dutifully unpacked everything from my car into my room upon my arrival, where it has stagnated and slowly crept out of its confinement until my room now resembles the remains of a bombing attack.

As a writer and artist, this does not bother me nearly as much as it does my parents. I call it artistic freedom, they call it abominable. So try as I might, I cannot escape the task of cleaning, even when that time could be used for writing! So, I must go clean the remnants of the missile strike, while Prince Caspian plays in the background to help me focus.

Adieu!

CV