|the view from the deck right this minute|
I remember a few months ago...actually Kevin reminded me during a particular whine session...that I just wanted to not have a crazy job with crazy people and I wished, WISHED, for a stay-at-home opportunity. I would be writing, writing, writing. I would submit the book to all the agents. I would relax.
It's been a month and a half of being at home and I've done none of those things. Well, I've written a bit but nothing to, hahahaha, write home about. I am bored however. Bored out my mind, wandering the house, bored out of my mind. I guess that could qualify for relaxing so I can put a check next to that.
I asked myself the other day what I would panic most about if I suddenly returned to work the very next day. There really wasn't anything that immediately jumped to my attention. I mean, of course, I would be disappointed that I haven't written more but that seems to just be my general existence.
So, what have I done? I've organized the house within an inch of its life. I've read numerous books. I've endlessly surfed the interwebs. I've relaxed in the sun. I've watched many hours of Doctor Who and Greys Anatomy. I've finished errands that kept getting ignored while I was working. I've diligently searched for work.
I've also worried, falling down the wormhole of What if I never go back to work (unlikely), what am I going to do about our Vegas trip (out of my control), and losing all the progress that I built on being able to retire with few worries when the time arrives. (Kevin is seven years older than I so this is going to take some planning) This is pointless and stupid but there I am.
Anyone who consoles me with a "This happened for a reason" or "Better things are coming your way" is going to get poked in the eye. I know the statements are true. The rational, reasonable part of me knows this. But the toddler in me is stomping my feet and flailing my hands in frustration.
Instead, I took the picture above and tried to just breathe. And I sat down to write.