Surely not six (6) weeks have passed since my last posting? Egad! See, this is an example of how a not-so-organized, technologically-challenged, early onset Alzheimer's, forty-seven year-old mother of two under five operates. Concrete things like trying to write seem to only transpire once every bimi-monthly. What is bimi-monthly, you might ask? It's a new word for every six weeks because it occurs between one month and two months. Think brunch.
Yes, I am disappointed in myself. Surely I can find the time to write everyday, no? Apparently not. It's similar to people like me who say we don't have time to exercise. Or, let's go one step further...who don't have time to make a phone call. EVERYONE has time to do those three things daily...write, exercise, and phone call. You can easily and literally and physically (you'd have to) fit those activities in on a daily basis. Even further - it's like saying you can't sing. Hello!! EVERYONE, I repeat, EVERYONE, can sing. If you can talk, you can sing. We may not want to hear you sing, but sing you can. And everyone can play the piano. A person can take two minutes out of the 1,440 minutes we each get (bedside calculator on hand!) each day to jot down a couple sentences. Even one sentence. And one sentence is considered writing. I will be strict to define writing as a sentence, not a phrase. There has to be a subject and a verb in order for the writing to count. Now, I have just written 10 sentences. They may not be Edith Wharton- caliber sentences. But, technically I DID just write, so this counts towards my daily writing, if I were to put myself in the category as a daily writer, which I am not about to, since I started this bedraggled paragraph stating that I haven't written for six weeks. But the potential is there and I hope I made my point.
What stopped me from writing for six (6) weeks? I could quickly come up with a million excuses. I never thought I'd be the type of person who'd lay out the excuse of mommyhood to excuse my lack of doing other activities aside from taking care of kids. But, OMG...it is all encompassing. I feel like such a loser because I can't do anything else except stare each morning at my pile of dishes and cat hair infested throw rugs while doing the most difficult thing I have ever done in my life: being a parent. And I am not even working a job. Any slight visions (and, believe me, they were ever so slight...slighter than the slightest sliver of a moon there ever was) of grandeur I had of myself have been tossed out by the reality of raising kids. It defines you, and I am as mediocre as they come. The not doing the dishes is a theme for another day. Why does the task of doing a simple sink full of dishes after a day of parenting suddenly seem so daunting?
