Busy?

Busy? Holds up hands and shrugs.
I took a nap a little bit ago and woke up off the couch, keeping the pictures in my head wrote it down on my computer notepad. Then spent another 15 minutes looking up the meanings. One of the symbols possible interpretations was that you are not getting enough done in life and you are falling behind. I actually don’t work right now. I take care of my son. He plays independently for long stretches and still takes three hour naps even though he is three, and my daughter is in school.
This is a great opportunity for me to explore my desire to create art. I like both writing and art. Both are time consuming. And the funny thing is that it takes a really long time to get started on either lately. I went 4 days last week where I didn’t create anything. All I did was read stuff online. I had gotten really interested in mythology and alchemy due to some weird dreams I had been having. But I haven’t been able to concentrate on anything for days.
But sometimes I feel guilty for even getting the chace to do art. I wanted to for such a long time but I was working full time and had a daughter to spend time with when I wasn’t working. And that familiar catch phrase everyone has heard before, “I just couldn’t find the time.” But I have time now and I don’t know how to use it effectively enough. I want to start a novel, but I am also terrified. So instead I just practice, and am waiting for a great inspiration to hit me. But I feel even though I have more time than most, I am always afraid. I am running against an invisible clock and if I haven’t gotten something done by that time I will have failed. I feel failure breathing on my back, it’s hot breath leaves my neck damp. I feel if I ever see it, it will be wearing black robes and wear its face should be will be nothing but blackness.
I am afraid of writing, because I will be looking down the well, and I can’t do it all at once. The music coming up from the well is haunting and also so enticing, but what if I never get back up and out. I know that sounds irrational, but how could art kill you? But I don’t know, I get a strong feeling it could.
I guess many days do play out busy at times. I make breakfast for the kids, try to keep a limit on my explosions and explain very calmly to my daughter that you really need to eat quickly and I asked you to put on your shoes three times now, why are they not on? Keep it in check, do not explode, do not be a terrible monster mother, but talk to them. They will understand if you explain. OK I probably ended up blowing up again. We are in a hurry kids, you are not going to be late. And kids fed, lunch packed. Wait… You didn’t eat your sandwich yesterday?
But I do not like the turkey on my sandwich.
You had me cut out cheese last week and I did, and now you want the meat out too? Your sandwich is going to be two slices of bread, some mayo and avocado and that’s it. That isn’t a meal. She stares not saying anything, standing fast to her point. You need to eat your sandwich today.
The kids shuffle out to the car. No time for shoes today for the boy. Some objections from him because it’s different.
“It’s okay, no shoes today. There’s no time” He walks over the grass barefoot and stands by the car.
I strap my boy in his seat, seats today have become contraptions of torture for both kids and parents alike, but at least they’re safer I guess. My daughter races to see if she will get her seat on before I get my sons on. She wins.
I start the car and drive to her school.
Drop her off, Chinwah, my boys stand in name (something feels wrong about putting in his name), Chinwah then asks if we can go to the library.
Sure but the library isn’t open for an hour. We go home, he is ready for snack, even though he has just had breakfast. I sometimes say no, wait till lunch and other times I say fine. Today was a fine day. I grab a little bowl and put some nuts and raisins in it, his eyes shine.
He carries his bowl to the table but he tips the bowl and nuts and raisins fall over the floor. He is crying. He wraps his arms around me and his head is tilted up and he let’s out tear filled wails.
Oh it’s okay, I comfort him, rubbing his back. You can have some more. It’s okay. I get the mess cleaned and offer another bowl that I place on the table. He smiles again and delicately, examining each piece before popping it in his mouth.

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