For some strange reason I thought that when I finished busting my tail on my degree, finished with editing jobs for others, I would have more time. Truly, I believed that suddenly tens of hours would miraculously open up and I would be able to accomplish much and get some rest. I would be superwoman! Yes, I know...what was I thinking? Life has been very busy with The Teenager, with working on our massive garden, with new academic writing assignments (those book reviews and research articles aren't going to publish themselves!), applying for jobs, and all of the other things that happen in life.
All that goes to say that I don't have much time to blog, at least when I look at my to-do list and think about the number of hours in a day. I also don't have time to spend writing morning pages or working through The Artist's Way. At least that's what my logical brain tells me. But then there is the other part of me, the part that remembers my goal for this year was to learn to live with intention, to focus on learning to prioritize what's really important. For me, writing is cathartic. And yet, that's the first thing that gets put aside when life seems too busy.
Not any more. Today I am going to pick up The Artist's Way for the first time in a long time and I am going to start reading it again. I am going to blog. I am going to writing morning pages. And maybe, just maybe, if I am very lucky (or focused or inspired or energized or blessed or whatever) I will be able to work a bit more on my novel, knowing that I will feel better. I will be in touch with me. And maybe, just maybe, I'll figure out what to do with my life. I'll have a goal, a plan, a dream. Maybe.