Seriously people. I’m freaking out here. It’s 4pm. I’ve done nothing all day (except make the bed, have a snack and unfriend a racist on facebook). For some reason the babysitter came over unplanned (while the boy was still sleeping) so she hung out upstairs while I got my “rightous indignation facebook block” on and…
…out of the way and read a bit more about Jian. It’s crack, this news story, and I’m loving it. I’m not sure why? I guess it’s that perfect itch to scratch when you watch someone you always knew was a bit creepy fall from his dark castle. Then the boy woke up and the sitter took him to the park and now I don’t know what the fuck to do with myself.
It’s not like we have babysitters all the time. We have them for when I’m on a deadline. Which I suppose I am. I have some shit to get done before baby #2 pops in 6 weeks. Book deals to finish and plays to write…
…but my point is…today it’s not happening. I don’t have the fire under my ass. I really could care less. Or actually, I should care more, shouldn’t I?
This is when the thoughts about addiction come up.
How is it possible that an incredibly sore, pregnant, mother of a toddler cannot give herself permission to lay around for a day?
How is it that any regular, working, busy woman who wants a rest finds it abnormally difficult to grant herself the permission?
Because if that woman stops, she may not start again.
Because if she stops, who is she? and why does she matter?
Because if she stops, then she’s alone and that’s hard.
I always rush to fill the void.
With visiting friends, secret smokes, late night snacking, buying shit, hosting parties, having big dreams, attempting to make congee, and other stuff I won’t talk about while pregnant cause it’s probably illegal.
It’s 4:11 now.
I could fold the laundry?
What about reading a book you like? What about going for a walk? What about meditating?
I don’t think there’s an answer to this one folks, just bringing up the question…All of you who think you are lazy and need to get more done out there…raise your hands?
Okay, those with your hands raised need to go lie down.
You know it’s a problem when you have no control over it right? Like drugs, and food and bad relationships?
So my problem is with time. Allowing time. Allowing space. Allowing anything in but what’s scheduled on my ical.
I’m going to go sit in a chair upstairs, drink a glass of juice and see what happens.
And honestly, I’d rather dance naked, trying to be sexy in bad lighting, just after giving birth, in front of my brother.
That’s how scary it is.
Feet up. Drinking juice. Staring at the wall. Like a superhero.