Last night I flipped the bird to all of my obligations and sat down to write.
I had my desk just the way I like it: pink desk lamp on (I love pink), smart phone plugged in for the umpteenth time, writing reference books stacked on my right, sticky notes plastered everywhere for easy reference, a cherry blossom candle burning merrily, and my favorite insulated cup with owls printed all over it full of grape tea (don't knock it, it's actually really good).
I opened Spotify and started up my writing soundtrack, so that the dulcet tones of A Perfect Circle, Audioslave, and Breaking Benjamin could get me into The Zone. For some reason, nothing else gets me into the writing zone the way Tool, Chavelle, et al can. Unless, of course, it's the Battlestar Gallactica soundtrack. That one can, though I always have to stop and simply exist when "Shape of Things to Come" and "All Along the Watchtower" play.
So anyway, I sat down, caught up to my scene, typed two sentences, and passed the fuck out.
I relaxed, got into the writing zone, and passed out!
Needless to say, I'm exhausted. I've been exhausted for the last five months. I've been frazzled and desperate for a year. I've worked nonstop for the last three (7 days a week, no joke). I see no end to this until at least November, when I finally get my degree.
How do you reconcile your life when everything is a priority? School is a priority. So is work. So is the toddler. So is maintaining the house, particularly since I have asthma so I can't really let the housework slide without getting extremely sick which, naturally, compounds the difficulty since there's no one else to watch my toddler if I have to go to the hospital, which has been known to happen with the really bad asthma attacks. So housework, unfortunately, isn't optional like it is for most people. And cooking; anyone with food allergies or intolerances knows processed or instant/boxed foods aren't an option, and we have both here. I go to bed at 4 a.m. just to get the necessities taken care of, along with the work I can't do when my daughter's awake (there's no concentration with a toddler). If I were to write on top of all that, I'd have to just go without sleep, which I've done, out of sheer desperation just to write.
Nobody should have to do that.
Where is the compromise? I'm constantly told I need to not do so much and sleep more, take more time for me. Okay, I say. What should I sacrifice? They never have an answer, because they know there isn't one. Not really. They say to just hire someone. I say great! Are you going to pay for it? They shut up real fast. Too many responsibilities, all of them priorities, no one to help.
So when I finally let my body relax enough to write, no wonder it collapses. I resent it, though. My one passion is writing, and I'm too strung out to do it. I can't not write, though.
No wonder I've been a smouldering bitch for the last month. Taking care of everyone and everything else, with every day a mad dash just to stay slightly behind. No time for what's important to me. So thankful school's almost over; I've come close to dropping out several times in the last couple of years just to seize my life back and fuck the diploma. It's only a Bachelor's, which is as meaningless as a high school diploma in this economy.
When you can't write or be with your own creativity, do you get resentful? I'm incredibly resentful. Seriously resentful. Critical-mass resentful.
What do you do to manage it, when you can't set aside the other duties that dominate your life?
Seriously. I'm asking.
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