Blogs are supposed to help others keep track of your thoughts, experiences and life. Mine used to do that. Now it seems to be a scattered bunch of posts that appear randomly like an old classmate you might bump into on the road or in the supermarket, bringing back fond memories of a time that was and leaving you with a warm feeling for a little while.
Then life goes back to normal and you forget once again the small things that used to make you smile. You forget the pleasure of writing simply for the sake of writing, of the thrill you feel when your can hear the clickety-clack of the keyboard speed up as your words flow out faster and faster and faster, of the anticipation when you know what the next sentence is going to be even as you start typing out the first one. There is a feeling of euphoria when there is no fear of ‘what next?’ because you know there’s an endless supply of ‘words’ waiting for you to pull them up out of non-existence and magic them into existence by typing them out. When all that matters is this word. And this one. And every one after it…
It’s hard for me to grab that kind of mood and hold on it. Harder than it used to be. Perhaps that’s because I have less angst to deal with nowadays. Life is pretty okay. Pretty & Okay. When you lack turmoil and suddenly things seem to be going well, when the downs are not as bad as they once seemed and the ups are manageable too, you begin to wonder: Have you become boring? Did you let go of so many dreams that life has become ordinary? Have you compromised too much or ‘settled’ for a safer option? Are you a traitor to your true self?
In a world where life has to be different, exciting, adventurous, controversial, opinionated and active in order to be considered worth mentioning on social media (what’s interesting about run-of-the-mill daily chores?), gaining responsibility and having committments defeats the purpose of ‘living’.
I’m not suggesting that people who live exciting lives aren’t responsible or don’t have committments. However, the variety and number of these duties define one’s existence, and sometimes, there just isn’t enough time leftover from your unique blend of ‘things to do’ for you to indulge in anything else.
There is often talk of making ‘me-time’ and setting aside a space in your schedule for your own interests, but is this always possible? Is it consistently available? Nope.
There are days when you will be able to do something luxuriously indulgent – like typing out this blog post simple because ‘I Want To Write Again’ – even though it involves having The Baby stretched out across my lap as I type over her slumbering little self. At least she’s sleeping. And not restlessly so.
Other days (most of them, truth be told), she will not conform – she will wake when she’s meant to sleep, demand attention when she should be playing by herself, need a change just after we spent twenty minutes putting her into fresh clothes – and by the time those mini-obstacles are overcome, the rest of the to-do things await. Exciting stuff like making lunch, vaccuming, cleaning the bathroom (whatever part of it you can in the 5 minutes you have before The Baby follows you and tries to fill her cup from the toilet bowl) or even pausing to do that decadent thing called eating (usually The Baby’s leftovers).
Me-time is saved for weekends and those weekends come around once a month…if I’m lucky. This is a lucky month and that’s why I’ve decided to rant a bit, complain a bit and write about just the normal stuff. Hopefully the joy of writing purely for ‘me’ will pull tihs blog back to being a bit more prolific!
P.S. She’s still asleep! *cheesy ftw grin*