I'm going to have to take things down a notch. Brace yourselves. I'm going to get serious and angsty and scream and kick and remove my contacts to clean them five times and drink a beer and pour the beer in the sink in exchange for chocolate milk.
The problem is that it's very hard to blog when there is little to say, when one's heart is full of bubbles and brain is full of burps. It's difficult to find the words when every day they seem farther away. I am losing my mind and need a break more than anything.
If I were to describe myself to a stranger I would use this image: A computer with 23982597485 windows open, a radio, and a cell phone all going at once and a kid in my lap.
How can I do it all? What if there are days I can't go outside. Days when I have a deadline and the kiddos need me and the house is a mess and the guinea pig stinks and there are friends in need and the phone keeps ringing and there are people to call back so my friends don't disappear, so I don't become obsolete again, sucked into life and responsibility and waiting for a paycheck instead of a dream.
Advice to friends. Advice to fellow graduates in the same boat. "How do you do it all?" Crack a joke. Make it seem easy. Make everything seem easy. Make life seem easy and working and relationships and writing, keeping the faith after over two and a half years of nursing school, reminding oneself that 6 years of college counted for a lot, counted for everything. Make the bed. Make it nice. Make the people laugh when you sit down to write and if you can't make them laugh make them cry. Make them want to hug you or hold you or punch you in the face. Make them want to kill you or fuck you or be your friend. Make them change. Make them happy. Make Dean smile. Make Ava laugh. Make them lunch. Make them want to change the world.
Hold the phone, someone is on the other line. She says its important. People are dying. Children. Friends. Press mute because there is nothing you can say. Press off because you're running out of minutes. Running out of time. Put down the book, the computer, the ideas. Remember who you are now. Wait. Remember who you were. Wait. Remember what's important. Make a list. Ten things, no twenty. Twenty thousand things you want to do before you die but what if tomorrow never comes? No one will remember. No one will know. No one will laugh or cry or make the bed. No one will finish the first draft of the book I swear I'm going to write about my life. No one will remember the thought you had last night, that great idea you forgot to write down.Who am I to feel overwhelmed when Atlas is out there, floating in space with the weight of the world on his shoulders? His legs crooked and veiny like branches, his feet sinking deeper into nothing. What am I doing with pencils in my ears and ideas in my head and pacifiers in my shoes?
How can I be everything? How is it possible? Does anyone know? You? Do you?
I'm making lists. One by one I'm checking stuff off, but on no list is there a reminder to slow down. Calm down. Put the computer away and the red pen and the broom and the candy bar and the phone and get thee to a Nunnery or at the very least outside.Thus far the mighty mystery of my life is this: How is it that doing it all feels like nothing is ever getting done.I'm hoping the answers will come with time, or at least a little liquor. Or air. Or something.