I admit there are obvious advantages to working from home, as I do. There are two school aged children in my basement this very moment painting and listening to people their age sing pop songs. They’re yelling along, full of smoothies and grilled cheese sandwiches, as though there is no tomorrow. Happy as clams.
You know what they’re going to want to do when that playlist is over? Listen to it again, help me Jesus.
Pleasant, but so dang repetitive.
This is my life as of late:
Or sometimes it’s like this:
How many times can a person be expected to do that before they kick out a window or something?
I understand that routine stabilizes children, and helps people to get more done every day. Routine takes care of the little stuff so that the mind is free from clutter and able to be more creative. Exercise routines lead to better health. I’m just saying that I may not be cut out for it. Planning ahead of time, instead of making me feel secure, makes me feel all… squirrely.
I don’t want to know what I will wear the next day before I go to sleep, I don’t even want to know how I will wear my hair. I resent making appointments too far ahead of time in case I’m otherwise occupied when that appointment actually comes around. But I do it, for the stability for my kid and the head room for myself. And then, I feel like I’m trapped in a cage looking for the nearest exit.
When I was a girl I had a map of the United States where I’d color in new states as I visited them. My goal was to have them all colored in someday. I was thinking that America is a big, beautiful place, and I wanted to see all of it, at least once. I did pretty well as a child (probably because my parents thought it was a good goal, and invested time in making sure that we saw the good old USA). And then I grew up, visited all of New England, and my mental map coloring stopped at the 46th state.
That map has stayed in the back of my mind though, and when it came time for my husband and I to plan our annual anniversary getaway, I got kind of whiny. “I want to go somewhere ELSE. (Whine, whine, whine.) I can barely stand it anymore… Let’s go somewhere else!” I was heard, and he got online and booked a trip to the last place in continental America that I haven’t been. The Pacific Northwest. He’s never been there either and we are glad. We’re going to see new vistas and meet different people from the people we already know. Maybe we’ll watch the guys at Pike Place Fish Market throw stuff, and take a lighthouse tour or drive along the Pacific coastline.
It depends how I feel when I get up in the morning, which will not come until I decide that the time is right.
Thanks for vacations. Amen.