I’m always complaining that there is never enough time in the day. Not enough to do a thing proper so I trudge through to-do lists doing things that seem necessary but not necessarily to the best they can be done.
Someday I am afraid I will look back and say it was all a lie. This life. That I’ve splayed my words out far and wide and said they were raw and organic and trustworthy but have I been? Honest, I mean? With myself and everyone else? I wonder and worry.
I spent at least an hour today floundering in the kitchen, not being able to make up my mind about what to do today. I messed about for at least an hour sewing tiny little wedding looking ribbons and flowers and lace onto two unwitting stuffed groundhogs and I called it progress. I called the Cheesecake Factory about a cake and they just said they have them at anytime just come pick one up. Whatever.
I went to Jazzercise so that is something. I wanted to go to the gym too but lost my nerve to leave the house again. Plus it is so, so cold outside (single digits).
I decided finally to read some of my books for the semester even if nothing will come from that, perhaps I will really enjoy it, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. My mind was thinking about how stupid the book I was reading was and how that guy had loads of poems published and much of what I read today was nonsense. What am I supposed to learn from that other than, given the right set of circumstances, anyone can publish anything. I’m not going to say what book it was. It made me want to take a nap.
I probably fell asleep for about 20 minutes and then woke up with a startled thought in my head. What if I can’t be married on February 2nd because it’s a Sunday. Why would that thought wake me up? The Nerve!!!
Then I wrote a mostly nonsense poem about how every room in this house wants something from me and I can neither escape that nor can I leave because every other place I might go in the world also needs something from me. That’s the Universes honest truth.
If I’m really being honest, which I think I am.. hope I am.. I would say when I read/evaluate my own body of work (as I have had to do in order to try and put together my manuscript) there are some overarching themes that present themselves. One of which is that I always want to run away, escape, be somewhere I’m not, be someone I’m not. I’m dreaming of it all the time. I’ve been dreaming of it since I was about 13. I’ve daydreamed entire lives that I would never live and each time I wake, I’m still in this one.
I wonder what it is I think I will find somewhere else. I have no place else to go. Nobody anywhere else loves me more than the people I have here with me now. Why when I have so much, and have been given the keys to the castle (literally) would I still be daydreaming of running away? Why can’t I be satisfied with this life? I say I want to just be content but then when I have a whole day to do that, I feel as if I’m wasting time.
The sun is already starting to get low in the January sky. It’s not even 4PM yet and yet it feels as though night time is but a blink away.
I’m not going to that reading/fund raiser tonight. I decided it wasn’t in the cards for me and I’d rather spend time here with Jim, even if he has work to do.
I have another few hours before he gets home and maybe I’ll work on the manuscript. I have lots of “tightening” to do. Lots of punctuation and syntax that needs attention. If I do that, perhaps I will feel like I did not waste this entire day. Perhaps.
Perhapsing the Time Away,