For the next week, I’ll be working full time filling in for someone who is out on medical leave. During that week, my mother will be here.
It’s almost Mother’s Day and I don’t want to sound critical of my mom but…
(Yes.)
…she can be very critical of me with comments about my weight and my parenting.
I’ve adopted this critical attitude toward myself. I’ve realized no one is harder on me than I am. It just often sucks to be validated about the criticisms I lay on myself.
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Working full time (even temporarily) outside the home has made me tired. I barely have energy to think let alone work. Extracurriculars, such as book club and exercise, have fallen by the wayside.
It’s a shame that I’ve got this good ol’ blog that I don’t use or touch regularly. So perhaps I’ll try posting more mundane posts. Posts that I think no one really cares about. (Let’s see how long this lasts.) Oh, like, something that would qualify as a Facebook status update: Today was a nice day.
Wait, I’m already cheapening my own post.
In all seriousness, today was a relatively good day. I worked my 3-hour shift in the children’s section of the library and endured a 2-hour drive to and from Philly (with my husband) for a 15-minute appointment with my psychiatrist. Thank God my psychiatrist is so good he’s worth the gas.
My husband (J) and I stopped at Bed Bath & Beyond to return an item and purchase some new sheets since we just lost two to wear and (literal) tear. We also spent time bumbling around trying to remember what it was that we wanted to buy at BB&B but couldn’t remember. (To this moment, we still haven’t remembered.) Then on a whim, we ate at Anthony’s Coal Fired Pizza for an early dinner only to discover that the only chicken on the menu were their specialty wings. My husband can’t eat any meat other than poultry due to his gout so the lack of chicken as a topping option was a real letdown. We ended up having an eggplant pizza along with their chicken wings, which were both good.
In addition to attending Bible study tonight, I managed to send off my manuscript to two beta readers in the hopes that I’ll get valuable feedback soon.
Ah yes, my unpublished, completed manuscript. It is tentatively called Getting Right with God and is 19 chapters long and 315 pages wide with 92,538 words and a Flesch-Kincaid Reading Level of 5.2. (Only 2 percent of my sentences are passive!) Now, I need to format it so it follows standard manuscript format and prepare it for—the horror!—querying agents. And now the editor has turned author andI’m the one who needs to pay an editor to review my work.
I’m always amazed at how people with blogs can generate content about themselves every . . . single . . . day. I like to talk about myself sometimes (really, who doesn’t in some form or capacity?), but I think what I generally like to do is put my opinions out there about different things and see what happens. I try to be thoughtful about what I post instead of ranting about how every driver in Southeastern Pennsylvania is set out to kill me on Wednesday afternoons. (I mean, really, people.)
But I have nothing of great importance to set forth here today. I know nothing of collective bargaining in Wisconsin and do not know if I agree with the state Supreme Court’s decision to overturn it. I am purposely ignorant of politics.
I watched Waiting for Superman the other night and found myself extremely discouraged and depressed about the public education system in America. I’ve resolved that I will homeschool children if I have any.
I should be editing a book right now instead of blogging.
I should also be cleaning this mess of a living room that has somehow turned into my office. My office mess is like a giant ocean, tethered to my desk. And then I, the hurricane, come along, pick it up, and generate the tsunami wave that crashes my mess into the nether worlds of the coffee table, couch, and kitchen table. I leave a disaster and disarray of papers in my wake. (My table surface areas never get to see the sun!)
I have a calendar still on May. I have paperwork to catch up on. Unopened bills. Receipts that haven’t been filed. Explanation of Benefits statements without a home. Checkbooks to balance. Books to read.
And when all that’s done. There’s still more to do. Like laundry. How can two people generate so much . . . ?
I feel like I’m running on a treadmill. I can never catch up. The work, at home and outside of my home, never ends.
This Journey Is My Own 