Making an attempt to get writing done

So now, after spending the past hour reading everybody's blog, I'm going to try to organise my own thoughts. And make it interesting! That's the part I hate - interesting to whom? How can some people write about any old thing and make it interesting? I don't know. Maybe the best thing is just to write about what one is interested in, and hopefully, someone else will feel the same way. Is that the idea of having a blog anyway? I'm new to all this, and sharing my thoughts with anyone has always been hard. Sharing my thoughts with friends I don't know is even more difficult.

Anyway, here I sit trying to write, while my Dad keeps coming in, "Do I have a three-hole punch" "No?" "But you had it before?" Where is it?" "Look at these papers I'm trying to hold together, and the staples aren't working." This is all said by Dad.

Okay, I say and start looking through all the drawers at my desk. Ah ha! I just find the clothes- pins I was looking for, as my student's have music books that won't stay open. I forgot the clothespins were in this drawer. So I take the clothes pins out of the drawer (I'm so organized!) and set them on the desk. I explain to Dad that I had been looking for them. He sees them, thinks I said they're for him, and take them to clip his papers together. I try to explain, but he doesn't hear me. He walks back to his room with MY clothespins. I get back to writing in my blog.

Now Dad comes back and says he has found the 3-hole puncher! Hurray. He says he must have had it all the time. Now he brings in a brand new pair of navy-blue trousers that he'd inadvertantly cut a hole into while removing the tag. What should he do with these? Throw them away? (I sense an innuendo here, but refuse to fall for it.) No, I'm not going to jump up and say I'll mend them, which I know he's hoping for.

I suggest that he show them to the dry-cleaners who will be showing up this afternoon - maybe they can mend them. I say, "you were going to answer the door when the cleaners come, were'nt you?" Now he's angry. Maybe my voice was a bit harsh, but for God's sake, now I've completely forgotten what I'm going to write! I'll be back tomorrow. For now, I've got to get out of here. But no, now Dad needs some needle-nosed pliers for removing staples. Where are those? I look through my desk...he comes back with the clothespins and puts them on my desk with an exaggerated "Thank You..." Now I feel guilty. Shoot. So much for this writing project I was going to attempt.