In my last entry I talked about how busy I am these days, so that I have not been able to meet my (self-imposed) blogging quota, and even update the archives of my published Chasing Happy pieces.
It's still pretty much the same this week. In fact, for the first time in many months, I was not able to write a column in today's issue of my newspaper.
Yesterday I took my finals and submitted a paper on Virginia Woolf's Mrs. Dalloway for a cognate course I picked myself -- British literature under Danton Remoto. My Asian history class ended Monday though I am still supposed to write a paper for it and actually am starting my research this evening. Another elective, this time a political science course (Gender, Human Rights and Globalization) begins tomorrow.
Oh wait, it's not the same. This is because out helper went to the province for an eight-day vacation last weekend, and my ex-husband, the children's father, nearly suffered a stroke Monday night, his blood pressure shooting up to 200, and was confined to a hospital in Makati. I did not perform the usual wifely duties, of course, but the children did. I made sure they knew their priorities.
But today, Wednesday, I got a break. I did not have classes. I also have permission to work online or in the office, whichever is convenient for me, until June 15.
So I spent the entire day at home. I did part of the laundry -- and, by the way, my washing machine went bust. I also spent time with Elmo and shared breakfast and lunch with him. We were supposed to go out to buy bigas, walis tambo and feather duster and to get his hair cut -- but his father came home from the hospital and wanted to be with him. So he left..and I continued with online office work, which took 5 hours.
Tomorrow and in the next 11 days I will be busy again. I look forward to staying at home the next time...maybe I will go to the wet market and haggle for fish and fruits and wipe all surfaces with a rag washed in clorox.
I feel so much more whole when I engage in these different activities. Sometimes when we engage in lofty intellectual things, we become snobs and believe ourselves to be too "good" for certain things.
Not me. The only things I despise are cleaning toilets and throwing out trash and dealing with roaches...not because of snobbery but an increasing, and sometimes I feel, debilitating, claustrophobia and obsessive-compulsiveness.
I guess, there is a part of me that wants to be a domestic goddess, as well. I call the shots now, and it feels great.