Peaceful places draw us, for a reason.
I find that although I am a terrible housekeeper, and cleaning bores me to tears, it also sometimes gives me the time to think, and get me over the hump on a story when I'm stuck. So I get to it when I can. And then again, I get to the point where I must. Like now.
If I can catch up my homework, I need to clean my house thoroughly. I'm to the point where I am partly-packed, and my office (which shares space with bed, closet, and craft supplies) is chaos. I have trouble thinking in this, the clutter seems to create mental noise that I just can't block out. Worse than having the kids buzzing in and out every few moments with music and questions and just need-to-chats. Last night I was away from the house for a few hours and wound up writing longhand on an available notebook… 8 pages of the Soccer Mom of the Apocalypse. Don't know *where* that came, but it showed me how much more comes welling out when I have fewer distractions.
So tomorrow I have an interveiw of a very special person up at ASM, I'm tickled about that, but I may be quiet for a while, catching the house up. And packing more! Yay… er, ugh. I love the reason, hate the doing.