Time for a quickie

I knew, when I took on this project, that there would be days I wouldn’t want to continue.  Or days I would want to ignore the fact that there was a project at all and just go about my life.  And I was right about that.

I figured, though, that the cause of this malaise would be bad days, or a general dread that the project wasn’t working – that I wasn’t feeling any better.  And on that point, I was wrong.  I do feel like doing this, focusing on healing my heart and my body and writing about it, is helping me, albeit in ways I’m not yet able to pinpoint or describe.

But some days, I just don’t know what to write about – because the last thing I want to do is repeat myself or whine too much, or because I haven’t been able to go out and do anything to give myself something to write about, or because nothing especially inspiring or devastating has happened that day.

The real issue here is time.  I don’t know where it goes, but somehow it always feels like there just aren’t enough hours in the day.  I work eight hours; we’re working out daily, which uses at least another hour; I eat and shower and try to sleep a little; and I’ve found that I spend roughly an hour a day writing in this blog.  In my estimation, that adds up to about 27 hours out of 24.

It gets to the point where, cuddling with Doug earlier this afternoon, I started adding up everything I still had to do today and actually felt guilty for using precious minutes spending time with my boyfriend.  I try to multi-task: writing while we’re watching a show together, or when it’s his turn at Scrabble.  Some nights, I go to bed later than I’d like.

Because of the daily commitments to the gym and the blog, I’ve been sacrificing other things I enjoy: reading, most notably, and embroidering the stocking I promised Doug I’d have finished for him by Christmas.  And I can’t help but make the connection…

What if we had a baby to take care of? Then what would happen to cuddle-time and alone-time and creative-time?  After I miscarried, when I made the decision to get my IUD, Dawn kept telling me, “Take this time to work on your relationship.”  I thought she was implying that there was something wrong with my relationship, but now I’m starting to see that time is precious, and that I’d better be pretty cemented in my resolve to take care of my relationship and myself, before I add in another person into the mix, especially a very small person destined to monopolize my hours.

I don’t mean to belittle the blog.  Like I said, it’s doing wonderful things for me.  But it’s like a conversation Doug and I were having today about my friend who’s getting married next month.  His fiancée is a costume designer, and is making her own wedding dress.  And last time I talked to my friend, he reported that she hadn’t finished it yet, and that, needless to say, she’s pretty stressed out about it.

“But that’s what she does,” Doug said.  “So shouldn’t it be easy for her?  Shouldn’t she be enjoying it?”

Writing is what I do.  It’s easy for me, and I enjoy it.  But I am not so one-dimensional that I can do only this and call it a life.  (Plus, it would make for some pretty boring entries, if all I did all day was write…  and then I only had that to write about.)

For now, this blog is giving me a crash course in juggling my commitments and priorities.  And I’m learning that I am not yet prepared to let this baby – or a real baby – overtake me so completely that I lose sight of who I am and what I want.  So for today – because I did cuddle with Doug, and we did go to the gym, and I have work very early tomorrow, and I’m going on a date with my dad tonight – this is all you get.

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