Armed with gloves, rags, and lemon scented cleaner, I faced down my nemesis. The bathroom stared back.
“Nay,” I declared. “Ye shall not rob me of my writing time!”
I scrubbed the counter with rough circular motions, but there was too much grime to be found. The battle would not be quickly won.
“If ye shall not yield! I shall do two things at once!”
The bathroom squeaked in horror as I unsheathed an old toothbrush. I set it into the cracks beneath the neck of the faucet. It coughed up little bits of black.
My movements slowed, working away at the grime as gently as I would brush the hair on a baby. I concentrated on a problem with my plot as I worked away. Sometimes my mind won. Sometimes the bathroom won.
I fought with my butterfly brain. Mediation is about focus, about mindful thinking, someone had told me once. It was easier said, harder done. Yet, little by little, the beast was slain and I rejoiced as the plot problem dissolved away like with the soap scum on the bathtub.
Oh yes, and the bathroom is spotless.