The house is a mess. Nobody did the dishes last night. I forgot to do the laundry yesterday. After driving kids to school, I gazed longingly at the beautiful forest nearby, where the morning sun glistened on the trees and mist hovered above like a soft blanket. I wanted to go for a stroll, hear the singing of the birds, enjoy the earthy scents of the forest. After the stroll, I would have gone back home, had some toast and eggs, drink some coffee. Next, I would have done the dishes and after that, sink into the world of my books and write.
But instead, I drove into the morning traffic.
While I was stuck in the traffic, I wondered how easy life was to the kind of a person, who checked the kids’ backpacks ready in the evening instead of in a hurry in the morning. If I were that kind of a person, my life would be much easier. If I were someone who planned the menu for the whole week and prepared meals in advance to ease the stress after workdays. The kind of person who worked out. The kind of person who remembered to book the gym-classes for the kids in time.
Imagine, some people actually buy winter wear for their kids from the January sales for the next winter. And me? I notice that my kids don’t have hats, gloves, or proper jackets only when it starts snowing.
"About 65 % of my brain activity is booked for my book projects."
After becoming an aspiring writer, this happened: About 65 % of my brain activity is booked for my book projects. Either I’m thinking plots, having a silent dialogue with my characters in my head, or I’m thinking about marketing plans and budgets. The reminding 35 % are free for the rest of the stuff: family, work, grocery shopping, choir, and laundry or dishes. 35 % is not much to be shared, to be honest. This means I don't remember the least of mine or the kids’ plans and schedules, and that our home is a lot messier than it used to be.
If I forget to answer your message, if I’m running late, or can't remember to do something I have promised, it's because of the limited capacity in my memory card.
But even if my writing has challenged my time-management skills, it brings so much joy, that it is something I will not give up. Not, even if the chaos finds its way into my home and my mind, not even if I forget the parent’s nights at school and my dentist appointments, not even if my personal writing time always means that some house chores won’t get done.
With these thoughts, I'm starting the new week. Maybe I’ll squeeze in some more writing time and ignore a chore or two from my "to do" -list. But you know what? The world has to adapt to the new writer me. It must, because the new me is not going anywhere.
It's like Franz Kafka said: ”A non-writing writer is a monster courting insanity.”
So, what do I do that I don't become a monster?