I disappeared for a bit there. Nothing dramatic, don’t worry. I guess I just…I have periods when the thoughts in my head are so loud and feel so important that I’m likely to spill them all to an unsuspecting produce clerk at the grocery store. Blogging helps to save those poor produce clerks – I put it all up here, and folks can choose whether they want in. You get to choose between my petulant thoughts or cute cat videos.
But then sometimes that feeling wanes. I no longer feel as though I might explode with ideas, so I pull back into my own head and focus on things like my home and my family. I’d love to be able to tell you that during these periods I’m an awesome listener, but I doubt it. I’d love to tell you that during these periods my house is a shining beacon of cleanliness, but that ain’t even a little bit true.
My house is a wreck today. It was a wreck yesterday too, and the day before that. The infamously annoying pool table is covered in papers, partially-finished Christmas gifts, and recycling that I’ve been setting aside for about eight gazillion Pinterest projects. My daughter’s side of my kids’ room is a disaster zone – way beyond what I could possibly send her in to fix. I desperately need a shower. My kitchen and bathroom are clean – I’m too much of a germaphobe to handle dirt underneath all the mess – but there isn’t a room anywhere in my house that doesn’t have a corner or a surface that’s covered in things which haven’t been put away.
I could blame Christmas. I could blame the multiple snow days which have kept my kids home from school and robbed me of the precious alone time I have left before I start a new job in January. I could blame my ex’s schedule, which has robbed him of time with his kids and therefore robbed me of more precious alone time. I could add all those things together and blame everything. But that isn’t what’s been happening.
I used to spend hours sitting here on my bed writing. From this perch in my room I can look out into the living room and hear into the kids’ room, which means I can govern my house from this place while still enjoying a bit of seclusion. So, I would set myself up with my coffee, my laptop, my fuzzy blanket and my ideas, and write all day long. Sometimes I’d write my witches, other times I’d write blog entries, or journal entries, or work on a short story or the Matriarch outline. I felt guilty about giving my writing more attention than my kids sometimes, and worried that I was losing muscle mass by sitting here so much. But I was getting a ton accomplished, so it felt worth it.
Other than the part-time job I picked up a couple of months ago, I still spend most of my time sitting on this bed. I even pull my computer out every day and set it next to me. But until today, it just sat there. All the time I used to spend writing has been spent on Pinterest, or binge-watching Scandal, or playing Cut the Rope Magic. The laundry is getting done, the kids are fed, homework gets helped with…I vacuum. But then I sit down here and instead of creating something amazing, I veg. I’m really not sure why.
When I step back and look at the situation my mind immediately jumps to depression, but I’m not depressed. I think I’m just having some down time, you know? I don’t turn on Netflix out of a feeling of defeat, it actually feels really good. I get excited to curl up and live vicariously through Olivia Pope for a while. After the third episode I can tell I need to turn it off and tackle one of the piles in one of the rooms in my house, and most of the time I do. I think the only guilt I feel is when I look at my laptop and realize it’s been days since I hung out in Bella Terra.
I start a new job in January. I’m going to have to figure out an entirely new routine, and find spaces for writing. I won’t have time at home without the kids here anymore, or even time after work before they get home from school to reorient myself and recharge for the afternoon. All the cleaning I usually do while they’re in school will have to be done on weekends. I’ve done it before, I know how to shove all the errands into one day, all the laundry into two days. The job is only thirty-five hours a week and is five minutes from my house, so it’s not even going to be like the other jobs I’ve had since I had kids. But it is going to be a change, and I’m truly not sure where to fit writing in. I suppose it will fit where it’s always fit – into the nooks and crannies of my day – once that passion waxes again.
In all of the self-help books I’ve written, there’s a common theme of allowance. Allow yourself to feel sad, or angry, or hopeful. Allow yourself to dream big, or to focus on the small things for a while. Allow, allow, allow. I’m realizing now, as I attempt to justify the last month or so, that this is what I’ve been doing. I’m allowing myself some down time. It doesn’t mean I’ve given up, it doesn’t mean I’m walking away from writing. Far from it. The ideas are still there, they’re just percolating. They’re in the crock pot of my mind, slow cooking until I’m ready to surface again. They’re underground, in the hibernation of winter, waiting for spring.
They’re buried under a pile of metaphors.
I hope all of you have a wonderful December, however you choose to spend it. If you have a holiday or two to celebrate, then I hope those are filled with joy. If you have end-of-the-fiscal-year tasks to get through, then I hope you fly through them with ease. If, like me, you have something new and exciting to look forward to in January, then my wish is that you are able to cut through any fears or negativity that may arise in anticipation of those changes in your life.
Blessed be.