I promised my writing teacher I would get some writing done.
That was on Saturday. The day before I made Thanksgiving dinner for nine people.
Here's the plan, I told my writing teacher, as soon as I get done with Thanksgiving dinner on Sunday, I'm going to write Monday and Tuesday. Then, when I see you again on Tuesday, I'll have some writing to show you.
Good plan, huh?
I have Thanksgiving. Everyone leaves. Seriously? I did all that cooking and everyone leaves me high and dry - or rather wet - with a sink full of dishes to wash. There's another couple hours of my life I will never get back.
I finally get the kitchen cleaned, and then the Pastor shows up wanting me to help him enter scores into his grade book.
I'm exhausted. Go to bed. Tomorrow is a new day! I can get writing done on Monday, right?
Nope. First thing Monday morning, I'm at the courthouse rather unexpectedly having to take care of a landlord-tenant issue. Want to know a great way to kill half a day? Go hang out at the courthouse where you will get referred from window to window with no clerk actually ever helping you.
Then I'm off to the eye doctor. Why - didn't I just have my eyes checked?!? Here's why - I'm either going blind, about to stroke out, going crazy, or some combination of all of the above. Within the past week, I've suddenly lost my ability to focus which as it turns out is fairly important and I've developed new floating black specks when I look at things on a white background. Like when I write. I've convinced myself that I must be going blind and I'm terrified because who is going to take care of me? I take care of everybody else, and I can't even get anybody to wipe toast crumbs off the counter (more on that later.) I start envisioning (ha!) what my life will be like as a blind woman. The only upside I see (ha!) is that I'll probably use it as an excuse to eat whatever I want because I won't be able to see how fat I'll be getting. I think it's a good sign that I'm looking for a silver lining.
I get pictures taken of the inside of my eyeballs and my prescription changed.
Home finally. I get a little bit of writing done, but the change in prescription is killing me and I end up with a headache. I'm still not convinced I'm not going blind, or crazy, or both, and I spend most of the evening with my eyes shut. Yep, the creative writing juices are really flowing!
Tuesday, here we come.
This will be the day.
I just have to get my hair cut, find out why my hair is so stressed out, take the 12-year-old to get her hair cut, and take me plus one child to the dentist.
The day starts off not so great. The 12-year-old girl in our house is acting like, well, a 12-year-old girl. In fact, that's going to be my new expletive when I get angry. From now on, I'm going to scream "12-year-old girl!" That says it all.
One of her *many* issues is the fact that I had the audacity to ask her to wipe up the toast crumbs she created. In hindsight, I remember why many a mother chooses to wipe up the crumbs herself, while deciding not to care if the child lives in squalor or grows up to be a crumb hoarder. Why did I ask? Why didn't I scream silently inside as I clean it up myself? Oh yes, I thought I'd go a different way so that I don't end up stressing myself into blindness or causing all my hair to break off. 12-year-old girl!
The plan to take the 12-year-old to the hairdresser is scrapped. I'm not going to spend that much money on someone who can't appreciate the fact that she lives in a house that allows her to have toast and asks for very little in return. I'll just go by myself and get some TLC.
When I leave the hairdresser, I see my dad has left me a voice mail that my mother has been in an accident. She's fine, everything is fine, no one is hurt - just shaken up. but I end up making a couple extra trips back and forth to my parent's house.
Me plus one has an appointment at the dentist. So I have to round up one kid, any kid, or perhaps any random person I can pick up off the street at this point, and get them to the dentist. I choose Nate. So glad I chose Nate, because I learn that he needs his wisdom teeth taken out. Really bad. Sooner rather than later. I did manage to have 15 minutes to myself in the waiting room where I actually got to work on my writing, scribbling furiously in my notebook. I told the hygienist who cleaned my teeth that coming to the dentist was the most relaxing part of my day. Her look confirmed for me what I already suspect - I am going crazy.
Then, one more trip to mom and dad's house.
Finally home. Starving. Have I eaten today? No. 12-year-old girl! I lock myself in my office with chips and guacamole. It seems like I'm too busy doing everything for everyone else to do the one thing that is important to me: write. And I don't say this in a selfless, wonderful sort of way. That I'm one of those wives and mommies who takes care of her family without complaining that there's nothing left at the end of the day for her. I'm definitely complaining.
So here I am shoving chips in my mouth between keystrokes and getting guacamole on my computer, trying to feel creative.
I wish it were simpler - like I could just blame my dog for eating my homework. I wish I had a dog. I bet if I went blind at least a dog would hang out with me and eat my tortilla chip remnants and clean up the crumbs from the toast. Maybe I could train the dog to bark if anyone got within a three foot radius of me so I could get some writing done. What to do now? Write some more? Or start looking for that dog?