Friday, September 3, 2010

recharge my batteries

tropical-beach-wallpaper-1280x960 I would really love a vacation. The kind where you go someplace NOT here, where there’s not pressing matters to attend, no homework, no phones, no computer (wait, now I’m just talkin’ the crazy, scratch that no computer part)… where I can sleep as late as I want, stay up all nite if I want, eat whatever I want, read for hours if I want. Someplace quiet and beautiful where there isn’t any traffic, no one is late because there isn’t a schedule, I don’t have to mediate between offspring or make dinner or do dishes; where I can walk from my front door to the water, I can wear a bathing suit and cut-offs at a restaurant, it’s balmy and warm but not hot, it smells good, it sounds nice… and I can recharge.

Oh, and it’s cheap, too, since we’re fantasizing. And there’s a very large Barne & Noble within walking distance, too.

Yup, sounds about right.

Not like I have this overly stressful life or anything; more or less, just the typical day to day stuff. Once I get the kidlets off to school and The Man off to work, my days are mostly my own. In truth, I feel like I’m rather wasteful of them. I feel like I’m not living them to their potential. I could be doing so many things to improve my environment, my talents, my mind. I could be baking bread, crocheting afghans, writing my book, reading that stack of books sitting next to my bed both on my nitestand and in a basket, going through the mounds of stuff in my children’s closets… and yet, here I sit, happily typing away, whiling away, wasting (?) away…

Why is it that I have to constantly be doing something in order to feel productive? What is it about me as a person that feels like unless my house is completely clean, my books are all read, my closets all organized, I’m somehow an epic failure? Because the truth is, none of those things are happening. My house is in a constant state of clutter/mess. My closets are scary. My books are mostly unread. Things are not getting baked, afghans are not getting crocheted, my book is not getting written. If I really feel that unless I’m doing things like I mentioned above, then I’m failing at life in general? And if I really feel that way, why am I not doing these things?

That has ever been the big question of my life. I am constantly waiting to feel like doing something besides doing nothing. I am constantly waiting to find the motivation to move.

Wait, wait… what did I just say???? I’m waiting to get the motivation to MOVE? Really? REALLY? I really just said that.

Holy crap. What is WRONG with me?

3 down 97 to go!

1 comment:

  1. Yup. Me too. Hey!! Wanna talk on the phone about it? Call me sometime.

    ReplyDelete