I have at least 8 hours of work to do today, plus kid pickups, meal-making, housekeeping, and miscellaneousness. There is no way I will all get even a fraction of it done, and I will again be making excuses to everyone in both my home life and work life. Crap.
Right now I have 20 minutes before next bell goes off, and I’m pissed. In fact, I’ve been pissed for a few days now, and my poor family has smelled it, seen it, and felt the grump of it. So, instead of rushing through the next poorly-executed task, I’ll write.
I’ll write how I went to bed grieving graceful leaders, who share credit and take more responsibility than they need to, because that’s what graceful leaders do. I’ll write about the OUTRAGEOUSLY F*CKED UP turn our country took in November, raising up the least gracious person I’ve ever witnessed. I’ll write about how I woke up this morning after a dream where I could effortlessly play guitar–with Matt Damon– because the guitar was really amazing.
I’ll write about how upset I am at the kids’ grandparents, for playing favorites with grandkids, and/or losing their abilities to achieve just about anything for lack of trying or steeping in fear. I’ll write about my grief that they are getting older, and my upset at myself for a my own stunning lack of grace, empathy and kindness, because I’m too busy feeling needy.
I’ll write about figuring out that empathic people + trauma = mental illness. Because, if you think about it, empathy means there is an opening to others, and you just can’t wall off trauma when there are windows in your walls.
I’ll write about writing, because frankly, I need to get this out some way, or everyone around me will suffer from an artist gone ape-shit, because a million creations and ideas have no time to hit the pavement. I’ve stuck a few too many back inside, along with pitiful, bitter disappointment. And I’m not saying this is cool, because the bitter, pitty, shitty attitude part is embarrassing and juvenile. But it is me, at least until now.
I’ll write about wrapping up, because it is time to jump back in the car, pick up a pre-schooler, shovel some snow and carry on. Carry On – Carry One.
Carry On, Writing One…. Carry On
