Excuses are quite rude. They do not sidle by in a crowded room with a cojoling, “Excuse me.” No, they barrel through the room, pointing out overflowing laundry bins, dirty breakfast dishes, mildewy bathrooms, and dusty corners. They come bearing lists.
Peering over my shoulder, they whisper, “Shouldn’t you be doing something else?”
As I nurture my creativity, they treat me as if I have grabbed one too many cookies.
“Isn’t it about time you took a walk?” they beckon.
“How can you write with the kids making so much noise?”
“How can you write when the house is so quiet?”
“Aren’t you tired at this hour of the morning?”
“Aren’t you tired at this hour of the night?”
“What are you making for dinner?”
“What are you making for dinner tomorrow?”
On and on and on…Excuses!
Excuses, I expose you for what you are. Now, if you will excuse me, I must ask you to leave and never come back. Unless you bring a cup of coffee, then maybe we can talk over a cookie.