It’s Tuesday, and I’m sitting in my dark office. It’s about eight o’clock in the morning. I’ve been up since 5:30 but that just means I’m only on cup of coffee #2. David has left to take the girls to school, and Cian is still asleep. It’s completely quiet in here save the ticking of a little clock I keep on a table and the soft sound of the rain falling against the porch roof out front. I’ve a salt lamp switched on. That warm glow is like inside sunshine on a day like this.
Most days we all need a little sunshine, manufactured or not.
(Salt lamp, do your magic.)
I’ll also tell you something else: we had family over to celebrate Easter on Sunday, and yesterday I was too occupied with the kiddos to worry about clean-up. So right now? My office is the only room in the house that’s truly clean.
I might very well be hiding.
I wandered in here with my coffee to do something after the garage door closed, but I’m not sure what: Check my email? Plan the day? Look at the news? It’s the day after a long Easter break. The living room is still littered with the detritus of holiday and belated birthday celebrations: candy-filled baskets, gift boxes, a few pairs of new flip-flops. But I’m in here, in the front room of the house reserved for my quiet work, and I sit in the dark, not doing anything other than listening.
Listening to the quiet.
Waiting for Cian to pad downstairs to ask for his “bwef-ast.”
Waiting for direction.
This is all super productive.
I am so behind on so many things I’m not quite sure where to start to catch up. Behind on emails. On this blog. On every single friendship I have, pretty much. I told a writer friend of mine, after she’d texted me one morning in a haze of espresso and to-do lists, that of the six things I should be juggling every day–writing work, blogging, family, emails/communication, friends, volunteering, house/laundry/paperwork/etc. (wait: that’s seven)–I can really only do two or three reasonably well at a time. These past couple of months, it’s been book writing, family, and house stuff (soooooo, if you’ve emailed me in the last month or so? I’m sorry?). I need to figure out a proper system. I keep thinking it will be easier to manage it all once Cian is in full-day kindergarten next year (I say that like I’m ready), but a friend with four children just told me to give up that particular daydream. She said it never truly gets un-busy.
She said it gently. I forgive her.
But when you’re only able to handle two or three of seven (I said seven but I meant seventy because shouldn’t laundry count for twenty?), that leaves a lot of other responsibilities I’ve let fall to the ground in a giant ol’ heap of anxiety.
Lots of responsibilities, some of which I dropped so long ago I can actually feel myself turning red when I think about them.
Shame, y’all. It can be paralyzing.
(Ooh! Maybe that’s why I’m sitting here catatonic! The SHAME is to BLAME.)
(Or something like that.)
Cian’s coming down the stairs now. I’ve got to set up his breakfast and clean up some things (dishes/laundry/endless pieces of crayoned scrap paper) and commence our daily in-depth chat about the Titanic (“I don’t know WHY I love the Titanic so MUCH, Mom! I’m glad I wasn’t on it but I wish I was.”). I have Mom things to do.
It’s still pouring rain.
I’m still sitting here, now hugging my preschooler, wondering what I should be doing with my life.
(Work your magic, salt lamp!)
I have no idea what to do next, but I guess getting up is a good place to start.
I haven’t talked a lot about my novel-writing lately here, largely because…
I’m sitting at a desk littered with paperwork. I see two planners here…