So, I have no time for blogging. Or, no, scratch that: I have time for blogging, but somehow always end up doing other things. Case in point: a few nights ago Charlie finally went to sleep at 8:00 (maybe too much napping that day? ya think?), and my handsome husband came home and agreed to make dinner. After finishing the dishes from lunch and walking to the bank to deposit a check and buy eggs (yes, I did need to do these things right then: we are having eggs for dinner) I parked myself on the couch with a handful of smoked almonds and said I was going to write. Instead, I somehow ended up commenting on a bunch of Facebook posts, researching playgroups and drop-in baby sing-a-longs that I may or may not ever attend with my over-sung-to child, and reading the news. Before I knew it dinner was ready and my window of time had disappeared.
This evening is a particularly good example of my ability to procrastinate, or generally avoid writing, but there are plenty of other times during the day when it seems I should be able to get a post in here or there. My daughter sleeps for 30 minutes at a time sometimes, but for some reason these snippets always seem to be filled with other activities: I’m in the middle of a dog-walk, or we’re in the car, or I’m trying to eat, sleep, or do laundry/dishes. Where does the time go?
G’s boss came over for dinner last night, as he does occasionally: his wife and two young boys live in NC, and he’s alone in an apartment up here for at least three nights every week. This has got to be tough, and I feel for him, but he’s also just a nice guy with whom we like to hang out, hence the repeated invites. His sons are 4 years and 16 months old, respectively, and his wife is a vet: they have three dogs, and she works part-time from home. How does this work? I asked him last night. Is she a super-person? I can barely deal with one kid and one dog, and I have no job to speak of.
“I don’t really get it, myself,” he replies. “She’s not a superwoman, no, and I keep telling her to drop the job, but whatever makes her happy, I suppose.” I nod, unconvinced. “If I were her I’d quit the job,” he offers.
This doesn’t really make me feel better. What is wrong with me that I seem unable to accomplish anything during my days? My child is hardly more demanding than the next baby, and my dog basically just mooches around the house looking forlorn, and is more than happy with a couple of 30-minute walks a day (although I do try to get out more). I have no television, don’t spend that much time online, and don’t read unless I’m nursing (which, admittedly, I seem to do almost constantly). How come I haven’t written a novel yet, at least?
I can’t help but think it all comes down to Parkinson’s Law (“work expands so as to fill the time available for its completion”), hence I’m starting a new resolution to write a bit every day, no matter what, even if it’s only 5 minutes. While this may not result in more posts, hopefully it will give me a bit more perspective on my current little over-busy life.
Ah, and she’s awake again–gotta go!