So, I've been thinking lately about balance. With K home from school for the summer, my normal routine is out the window. Hell, ANY semblance of routine is out the window. Yesterday, we took a field trip to the aquarium. Today, I have a metric fuckton of cleaning to accomplish. Tomorrow? Who knows. With a five-year-old around, I have to find balance. I need time for myself (time to write, time to have stillness and quiet). I need to have time with my daughter. I need to get housework done. What usually suffers in this equation is the me time. Just when I think I have something like unto order--a precarious balance of family, self and necessity--something comes along to sweep the leg and I go tumbling down to pick it all back up again.I've decided that routine can kiss my ass. This is my life. It's chaotic. It's not perfect. It may not be the lifestyle of a "serious, committed, professional writer", but it's my life. As I'm not willing to just flat out ignore my kid or let her build nuclear weapons in the kitchen while I play in my own little worlds with zombies...and I'm not willing to live in a pile of dirty clothes and windows smudged with cat & kid prints...we have to compromise. Part of that compromise is the daily word goal. Does this mean I just don't write? Fuck no. Mommy gets cranky when she can't write... and when mommy gets cranky...well, you wouldn't like me when I'm cranky. (Rawr.) This just means that I take the time I can get and I don't kick myself for not getting thousands of words a day into ye olde word file.
This means that I'm going to stop fighting for balance. I'm going to stop struggling and trying to reign in the chaos. I'm going to love the bomb, as it were.
The also means I just don't have the time I used to for peer critiques on Book Country. I'm sorry, guys. I'll do what I can when I can. And right now, I've got some time. But the zombies...they wants me to talk to them and play in their world. So I gotta go. Later, all.
EDITED TO ADD: Just realized that this kinda sounds combative and defensive. I'm not getting crap from anyone but the voices in my head. There's this voice (it's the same one that two weeks ago told me I sucked at writing and should give up...) and it must have wriggled free of the duct tape and gym sock gag I'd fashioned for it, because now it's saying, "If you were serious about this, you'd ignore your family to write."
No. No I wouldn't. I'm not okay with that. Also, I wrote the novel last year in one month. With the kiddo at home. And felt like I ignored her the whole time. I don't want to do that again. So that voice is who I'm yelling at in this entry.
When I posted this blog, other things called for my attention, so Word sits alone for now. I'm back to the grind of laundry and Momming.