Smug Complaints

I’ve got internet. And …

I have the biggest case of writer’s block I’ve ever experienced. Without a crisis, I’m at a loss of what to say. When I was in crisis, I had lots of ideas of what to write when I was not in crisis. Now I’m without a crisis. Those ideas are slipping through my fingers like water and the time seems to have gone with it.

When the ship was sinking, it was acceptable to play the violin, to dance, to drink, to be merry, to make love, to relish the sweet moments. Might as well do what you love when the water is rising.

Bitter acceptance to one’s fate is more conducive to creation. The irony can only be pleasurable to the Creator.

Now, we’re on the shore. We’re all safe. But the work must be set to in earnest because survival is the driving force.

There are clothes to wash, boxes to flatten, food to cook, stores to be replenished, games to see, practices to make, school to teach, floors to vacuum, bathrooms to clean, students to tutor, bills to pay, and lunches to make. Where oh where is the time for posts to write? Or books to read?

Deep, pathetic sigh.

I shouldn’t complain. Actually, I complain with a bit of smugness. I have all of the trials and tribulations of a busy, stay-at-home mom. To have these lighter problems weigh upon me feels like running at sea-level after living high up in the mountains. Easy-schmeezy.They are problems I am glad to have — ones I know I can grapple with. They are a fourth-grade math page to a sixth-grader — just plain fun.

So I kiss Paul and hand him his lunch in the morning, and I race around my little piece of creation from that moment forward. But I am happy, happy, happy to be who I am.


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