My reading challenge for 2013 on Goodreads is never going to be accomplished and my writing plans for this year have all but been squashed. I have been able to read things in short snippets - such as magazine articles or things that flash by on the Internet, but a whole book? No way. I have been strictly in audiobook land snce I started growing my little boy. And, at that, it is a one book at a time, needing to rewind frequently, kind of pace.
As for writing, I have to thank God over and over again for my writing group. If it were not for our weekly meetings, writing prompts and the writing assignments we give each other in between I don't think I would get any other writing done. It is frustrating, but it also feels strangely natural, which, to be completely honest with you, scares the hell out of me.
Arguing "Just for Me"
I love my blog and my writing - I don't want either one to wilt away on me. I have committed to writing for StoryDam.com twice a week and keeping that up has been a struggle for me. I don't know how to add more on top of it when it is something that is "just for me."
And there are, quite possibly, the silliest words I have ever written. "Just for me" might be the most important reason for doing anything... ever. Particularly since my life is about to transform in such a way that every breathing moment will be dedicated to the livelihood of another. My "just for me" moments are probably running out!
Physical Roadblocks to My Creative Endeavors
Of course, two things are physically in the way of me getting any writing done: exhaustion and incessant nesting. The exhaustion is hilarious - I am basically a narcoleptic. This morning, as my husband left for work he told me he thought I should go back to bed. "Don't be ridiculous!" I said, "I am wide awake and I have to write a post for Story Dam, anyway!" I closed the door behind him and made myself some oatmeal for breakfast. I don't know what happened after I finished that oatmeal except to say that approximately five hours after my husband left for work, I woke up in a drooling stupor, on my couch, with every light on in the house and the television blasting. I still had not written my post for Story Dam. I wish I could tell you that this was out of the ordinary for me. It is not.
|from Belle La Vie|
On the other hand, when I am blessed with bouts of energy, like I was yesterday, I am filled with only one goal in mind: get this house in order! I have written about this house a number of times - the flood, the fact that I have lived here my entire life, and the fact that it isn't exactly... well... put together. When I was teaching, my work came first and my house barely held fast on its foundation. When I came home to deal with my disease, I was too sick to do much of anything. Now that I am somewhere in between the two worlds of "too busy" and "too sick" my eyes are finally opened to the reality around me. Unfortunately, I still live in the world of "too poor" to make the dramatic types of improvements truly necessary, but, in between I can at least clean up the debris of the chaos that has swirled within these walls for years.
And how does one make time for themselves when that reality exists? My answer, thus far, has been that one does not. My answer has been that I am not as important as my setting. And while I feel so much better with the progress that I have been able to make in certain portions of this house, innately I know something is very wrong about this line of logic. A part of me keeps asking if I am just making excuses, if there is something else holding me back from letting my mind wander while I write. Or am I being irresponsible even thinking that "I should be writing" instead of doing more laundry?
I know somewhere in between there is a balance. There is a place where I can write, blog, read, keep my house in order and build a baby. All is possible. I simply have to allow myself to believe that again. I also have to allow myself to believe that I deserve it all.
What kind of mom will I be if I squash my own desires? While I want to store up all of my creative juices to pour onto my baby boy (did I tell you that?! I'm having a little mister!), I am beginning to realize that bottling them up in the interim will merely make them atrophy. I need to work these creative muscles out so I can shower my son with the best that I have to offer - not only in parenting responsibilities, but also in beautiful visions of the world around him.
Have you ever been faced with something in your life that you felt was "more important" than your writing? How did you deal with it and find a balance?
For those who have experienced pregnancy brain - did you ever find a cure besides giving birth? What things became impossible for you while afflicted?