The year is dwindling.
These days are my favorite days, and they’re also the most depressive. I don’t know about you, but every day or so, usually when I’m driving or folding laundry, I glance back on the divided hours of the past year and discover a pie chart I don’t much admire. Quite a large slice is devoted to Making Meals No One Ate, another big one contains Explaining the Thought Process Behind My Actions, and the third major player happens to be Driving Children To Activities They Used To Be Excited About. The smallest piece of pie is Writing a Novel, and the second to smallest is Thinking Unique Thoughts, and the third smallest is Reflecting in Healthy Ways.
You can see why this might be depressing.
What makes it worse is the ratio of treats to real food currently residing in our house.
And of course! This is all fixable! With relative ease! I could, for example, go for a walk and I’d feel about a thousand percent better. I could play a card game with my youngest son and therefore avoid the suspicion that I’ve neglected him far more than parenting articles suggest is necessary. I could kiss my husband and tell him I love him. All these things would make me feel better.
But I’m not sure the feeling better feel would last longer than three in the afternoon.
What I really need is a systemic sea change. A sustainable habit of living healthfully. A way of preventing quite so many interruptions.
Ah. That might fix everything. Fewer interruptions.
But I have three children. And a husband who enjoys my company. Is asking for fewer interruptions truly an option?
Oh, I have to go. The seven-year-old just returned and needs me to make him a Meal He Won’t Eat.
2 thoughts on “The Day After the Day After Christmas”
Oh my – how I resonate with this! It brought back many things I’ve blissfully forgotten, (especially making meals no one eats). I wish I could assure you that once the children leave the nest the interruptions will diminish. But chances are pretty good you’ll just have different interruptions. I’ve spent my whole writing life struggling with exactly the same issues, to the point where they’ve become a boringly repetitive mantra which even I’m tired of hearing. I’m beginning to have a sneaking suspicion that there’s something here — woven into these writerly woes — that’s essential to the process. And instead of fighting the interruptions and the chaos, maybe I should be embracing them. I’m not sure how exactly but at least I’m no longer under the delusion that I’ll eventually get my act together.
I am clinging tightly to my own delusions! Ah well, that’s why we need writing retreats and weekend escapes, I suppose.