I'm writing every day. Can you tell?
"Not here," you say.
Okay, you caught me there. But I am writing. Doing some personal essay, reviewing and editing older poetry and I have an article I'm finishing up for submission. It's just under 2,500 words and a heavy subject so it drains the emotions. I've been working into the wee hours, getting up to see A off to school, then going back to bed. So, as you can imagine, my system is all messed up.
I'm working too.
Oh, no, I'm not getting paid.
I'm a wife and mother. Like most of you, I get groceries, make meals, do laundry, tidy, run errands, worry and pray. I try not to act like the spoiled princess I used to be. I try to ignore the times when "Thank you" isn't forthcoming and "Why do you waste time on the computer?" is.
Today is my deadline for taking down the Christmas decor. If you look down on me because my "get back to really boring non-decorated house" date is later than yours, I'm going to ignore that too. I don't have any help to do it. I will put on Christmas music and try not to be resentful.
I made a list of my current commitments. It even scared me this time. When I had a paid job, I knew I didn't have spare time so I didn't say yes quite so often. Somehow in the last three months, that's all I've said. I haven't seen Jim Carey's current "Yes Man" movie, but I'm beginning to think I could write the script.
But then I think of my friend Sue whose mother has been in hospital since before Christmas. Surgery may finally happen Friday but then recovery time will be lengthy. The hospital is way across town via the busiest road. And her neighbor, whose newborn is having open heart surgery. Big issues. Mine are minor; resentment skulks away in the shadow of these monumental mountains.
And I meditate on Psalm 139:5-18. Read it. Really. And trust.