It's a couple hours past midnight here, and I'm finally finished with the work I brought home. I'm not a workaholic, but I find it's often easier to get work done if I can get away from constant interruption.
The kids at the Club are always coming up with something to distract me. Today, it was a science project involving caterpillars. I blunted an X-acto knife cutting air holes in a couple plastic containers.
After that, it was books that needed to be turned in for Reading Quest, a literacy program in which the kids read books from January to May, and report on them to me. The children with the most books win prizes.
Then there were miscellaneous, unexpected tasks. By the time the Club closed, I had only checked off three items on the day's "to do" list.
Some folks thrive in the busy-ness. I am not one of them. I jealously guard my weekends, my solitude. Tugged so much by other people's urgency, by their "emergencies" and needs, I need the quiet in order to remain sane.
That's part of what draws me to photography and writing, I suppose: a chance to focus my mind utterly on something other than all those literal and figurative grasping hands.