So much is happening in my life now, and yet I am in a holding pattern waiting for the next anvil to fall. In short my life seems kind of cartoony, but nothing of substance has yet changed. We finally found a house to rent. It is not at all what we want, but, given the alternatives, it will do for now. Everything is temporary until Mary passes her nursing boards and gets a job. We will probably have to be temporary for about a year after that since all the good jobs are out of town, and she will be commuting long distance and staying away during her work week and returning here on her weekends, whatever days she gets off, which in nursing can be quite erratic.
I haven’t been writing much these days because my brain has been otherwise occupied. During the directors vacation, I have been trying to handle the administrative and financial aspects of the school, and feeling overwhelmed there. Now that she’s back I can go back to being just a teacher, which is enough. Then there was the house hunting, which Mary mostly handled, but her stress is usually becomes my stress. Now that has been resolved, she can go back to worrying about her test, getting a job and moving, and I can take some time to write a little.
It always happens this way. My life gets distracting and busy and I forget that writing helps me put it all in perspective. I sort things out better if I write about what is going on, because I have condense it all down into words. I have to actually sort things out. This goes here. That feeling goes with this thing. It all has to make some sort of sense, which it rarely does when it is all mashed up in my mind. In order to write about my life, I have to pull each item and feeling out and examine it and see how it fits with the other items and feelings in the mess.
I should write even when I can’t even think about writing because writing helps me think more clearly. I just have to get myself started. I have to push that boulder up the hill, so it can roll down the other side. That is what it feels like once I start pushing, at first it is a strain, but there comes a point where the words just start coming like rolling downhill, and stopping is the challenge. Maybe if I stop here, I will be able to have a little slope left to get started tomorrow. I can start out rolling and maybe get to some higher ground for the next day. This wild ride is not stopping anytime soon, I just have to use the downs to get me up so I can roll down again. Sounds crazy, but it just might work. I just have to remember not to stop in the middle of the valleys. If I can get half-way up a hill, I can see the top and imagine gliding down the other side. This is why I should write more. It helps me get to the hilltops so I can see where this cartoon roller coaster is taking me.