On Writing Environment

As I sat alone this morning, for the first time in at least three years, I ponder if I ever will be able to write again surrounded by new unfamiliar things called my family. They are not the same family as I used to have. My parents, who have not seen me in a while crowded over me like tigers preying upon a fallen monkey - hmm okay, maybe that's a bit extreme. Nevertheless, I felt suddenly overwhelmed with their attention. My son is not three years old and he demanded my constant attention - worse, when he was not asking for my attention, I found myself looking at his direction, silently filtering all the cute new words that he's uttering to his toys. My husband... poor thing, needed my attention though he was being nice not to ask fight his son for it. In the end, my coming home to rest and write has became a small nightmare of being pulled in all directions. I sat alone today. I managed to overcome my jetlag. I wished I could have just stayed overnight when it's calm and there are no one here. But somewhere in this chaotic jungle of 'look at me's and 'listen to me's I got plenty of good ideas. I just need some dark corner somewhere where they can't find me, so I can write it down. Everyday is Xmas here.