Wednesday, September 29, 2004

Sick Little Boy, Day Two

Staying home like this, having time to do the dishes, thinking about making bread (nod to Liza),

looking at the clothes, folded in baskets in the hallway, and thinking that I have time to put them away, and maybe either clean out the car or tackle the studio...



The problem with giving me a little time at home is that I want more

and I start to feel sorry for myself because tomorrow I have to go to work.



So, today, instead of fully enjoying the fine sunlight dappling

through my bedroom window, flapping through the leaves, the chill in

the morning air as I walked my dog through dewy grass, seeing five

little brown birds huddling together at the curb, breaking into flight

as my giant dog approached them, seeing her look at them for a moment

in wonder before lunging at them, seeing, as we passed my own front

yard, one of her small yellow teddy bears dressed in fuschia vest,

lying face down in the grass, forgotten, lost among the weeds that are

spilling out of my flower beds, instead of enjoying homemade coffee

and a clean kitchen and the warm kisses of my little naked blonde boy,

who wraps himself in a green towel after bathing and doesn't want to

get dressed, and in his funny way asks me to recite the breakfast

menu, and when I have, asks if Pancake City might be on that menu,

instead of enjoying this, I notice it, I make the mental notes a

writer makes, store it away later so I can write about it like this,

but I don't really enjoy it because that would cause me to ache so

much because I won't have it tomorrow.



I am still incapable of living in the moment, of being present in my

own life, I am always jumping ahead to tomorrow, rushing boys out the

door, heading to work, not enough time, then the busy weekend, which I

will not enjoy, but be longing for home.



The moments I enjoy: when the kids are sleeping, or when I am lying

down with them, wrapping up our day, when Dereck and I are getting

ready for bed and my time seems truly my own, I love our bedroom, my

books, the soft light, the flirting, and those are the moments I feel

really alive, the moments I crave the rest of my life, the times I am

thinking about during the rest of it all, when I feel like I am not

really here at all, but simply watching a movie reel of someone else's

life.



And I don't want to wake up someday and realize there is no more life

left to have, to enjoy, to be fully engaged in, and so all I will ever

be able to do is to watch that movie reel, to remember having a life,

but not to have memories beyond seeing it.



I think my life currently falls under the category of, "Has it really

really good," and I would do well to start enjoying that more.



When I am at karaoke, I am always longing to be back home, longing for

my computer monitor, the comfort of my blogs, the kitchen, the

children breathing in their beds, my books, sitting in bed with

pillows and reading. I *remember* karaoke as being something fun, but

I am never fully there. I am always ticking the time away until I am

home.



And during the day, I am still always always always wracked with guilt

about what I should be doing because somewhere I got the impression

that I should always be busy, always be productive in my work,

probably from working at fast food jobs in which you never slow down

and the work is always present.



A lot of my work is just showing up, being present for when the next

project occurs, and thinking is a large part of my work too. Trying

out things. I don't have a problem with paying my babysitter to show

up before I need her so that when I do need her, she is right there.

So, why is it so hard for me to have a job and be paid when sometimes

I am not really very busy, not producing anything or making anything?



How do other people function and not feel guilty? Or do they too?

Does anyone enjoy their life as it is happening? Am I the only one?



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