I think I want to do too many things. At least I think that’s the problem. Then I have so many things swirling around in my ADD brain that not much of anything gets done! I think I need an intervention, or at the very least a self help group for procrastinating over- achievers. There just does not seem to be enough hours in the day for this single mom and would be writer-poet-knitter-reader-baker-craft maker- and don’t forget the laundress-house cleaner-painter-lawn maintainer-light bulb changer-car washer-tutor-errand runner. I guess what I’m saying is I have yet to figure out the balance that is working a day job THEN finding time to write as well as keep up with any hobbies I may wish to try and then all the housework/maintenance mundane no fun stuff on top of being mom to a pre-teen with a precarious emotional state.
My number one job, and favorite by far, is being mom to my girl. NOTHING else is as important and I would forgo any other thing on the planet to take care of her and make sure she’s okay and to just spend time relaxing or having fun with her. My second favorite thing is writing. (well, maybe writing and reading tie?) I need organization in my life. I need balance. I need to figure out how to get everything done. I know there is a way. I see other people balance beautifully without having an overload and shutting down. I mean, right now, my house looks like a tornado would probably do it a favor. I mean just rip right through and take everything and it would probably be an improvement. Okay, on second thought, I like having a roof, so I guess that would be a bad idea. The gigantic balls of dog fur add ambiance, right? Sure they do. I like them just where they are.
I’ve begun work on a new project. I’m just not entirely sure of its direction. I am having a difficult time right now finding writing time every day, but I haven’t been too worried about it. My daughter is having some difficulties right now and it’s more important to me to be with her and to just do nothing some evenings but sit and watch movies with her, or talk or whatever she wants to do. I have to admit to myself though, that maybe just maybe, I’ve gotten a bit lazy as well. It’s like in my HEAD I can see me completing all kinds of tasks. I see myself getting up in the morning and am off and running on a super productive day. I exercise, I eat right. I go to work. I come home and make dinner. I write. I knit. I mow the lawn. I clean the garage. I organize the house. I do the laundry and ACTUALLY put it away instead of pulling what we need out of the pile on the sofa for a week. You know, I want to get things done. Like a normal person. Is that just some fantasy I will never achieve?
Tonight my daughter and I were talking, and she is always telling me I’m awkward. She isn’t being mean, it’s true. My social anxiety makes me really awkward around people. I could be a recluse in a heartbeat. I fantasize about it. She was laughing, saying she would have no idea what to do if she had a “normal” mother like the other kids she knew. She said she would absolutely suffocate and die if she had a mother that was not quirky like I am. I told her it wouldn’t be any picnic for a “normal” mother to have to parent her quirky self either. She agreed and we laughed about it. While I’m glad my daughter appreciates my somewhat untraditional approach to parenting her (yes I have rules. Yes I require my child to behave herself and be respectful and all the other things “good” parents teach their children — we are just both sarcastic and snarky and I don’t sweat the small stuff. We have a unique way of communicating and we appreciate one another’s quirks and eccentricities for what they are. It’s awesome.)
I wish though that I could figure out the magic formula for allowing me to do ALL the things I want to do. Heck, I’d settle for half. Or less than half. Right now, I have high hopes of deep cleaning and organizing the house WHILE making time to write every day. For now I guess I’ll just muddle through. I haven’t had as much writing time lately as I’d like, but little by little the story is taking shape. I love this first draft stage when the characters are revealing themselves to me. I like looking at them and finding their weaknesses and seeing what makes them human. I like to see how they live their lives and how they solve their problems.
I keep trying to figure out what kind of writer I am. I like to read so many different types of things that I have a hard time narrowing my writing to a certain genre. I want to write things that make people laugh. I want to write things that make people cry. I want to make people think. I want to write tales of horror and tales of life and death and pain and redemption. I suppose all of those things can be found in the essence of human nature. I want to write stories that mean something to me. As long as I do that, I suppose there is no reason to try to decide what category I fit into. At least not right now. If I write what speaks to my heart, the category to which I belong should become clear. At least I think it might.
Being a writer is who I am. I cannot change that. I cannot deny it. Being a mother is the most important thing I will ever do. I guess all the rest can wait.