This is the second week that I would not be able to write my newspaper column. And of course, regular visitors of this blog would also notice there has been nothing new in the past month or so. I feel bad.
No, I feel terrible.
I can cite a million excuses. We just moved houses, and in a rush at that. My son was mauled and I saw the case through its resolution. I am writing a major project for grad school. I am a mother, four times over, to children who are worlds apart in temperament.
All of them sound hollow, though. I have always believed that if you wanted something badly enough, you would move mountains to get it, or do it. This past month, and especially this week, I was reminded that there are easy mountains, and there are difficult mountains.
It is not that the spring is drying up. On the contrary, my head is always abuzz with ideas about this and that, both for my professional work and my personal one. I keep a list because they are that many, and I don't want to forget a thing.
But I am just so tired and overwhelmed by the many things that need to be put in order. In case you have not noticed, I am a sucker for order, albeit belatedly (too much chaos in earlier years). This is my priority -- not as a matter of choice, but as a matter of survival.
I know this is temporary, and that this phase is ending soon. I am very nearly done with fixing my room (okay -- I share it with Elmo, but he's Elmo, so I don't mind). The ultimate goal of this transfer, despite the fact that it entails additional expenses both one-time and operational, is for me and the children to have our personal spaces that would in turn make us all more productive. We will be better persons, leading fuller, better rounded lives.
The stories will come. Soon. And they won't stop coming.