Sometimes life gets busy.
In the last two months I have:
– Destroyed, re-wired, and re-built a friend’s living room (with a lot of help).
– Helped two friends, a married couple, move into their first home… and helped destroy, repair, and paint their new home.
– Moved, with my husband, into the first home we have ever shared alone –we’ve been married five years.
All of those huge, time-consuming things took placing during all our normal duties like, school, and work. I was actually Nannying in the first house while it was in shambles. That took creativity.
During this time I’ve done no writing. I’d like to say ‘little writing’. I’d like to lie to myself and pretend I was doing some of it at least. But I wasn’t. And it’s hard not to be mad at myself about it. My brain knows that I was busy. Really busy. Sometimes those days of working on people’s homes were 18 hours long. But it just rings hollow. I should have done more.
I should have done something.
So I freak-out, berate myself, feel terrible. And then I take a deep breath. And remember something very, very important in all this:
I can only do so many things. Now that those things are normalizing I can get back to some important things that have fallen along the wayside. Like friends, and lawn work, and reading.
And oh yeah, writing.
The whole point of this Blog was to keep me on track, or at least make it hard for me to get totally off the track.
It may be the caboose but at least I’m back on the wagon.
Photo: Canadian Pacific Railway, the O. Lavallee collection