I feel as though my ambition to write has lost me. It is 5:30 in the morning. I am finally able to take some time for my craft and I have nothing to say. I am blank. Like too many marbles stuffed in a bag, now I have to wiggle to get even one out.
Maybe I am putting too much pressure on myself. I wake myself up several times in the night hoping that it will be 5:30, my wake up time. Only it isn’t. It is earlier. I don’t want to be exhausted so I fall back asleep. I wake up so many times that by the time my meditation bowl chime goes off at 5:30 I sleep right through it. I am so desperate for some time to write that I am defeating myself in the process.
Now I sit here with plenty of time after a week or more of struggling to find it and I have nothing to say. I wonder how bloggers find time to blog on a regular basis? A commitment to a schedule I presume. A commitment they don’t let even their family intrude on. My issue is to say “No.” It is such a small word yet the energy it takes to say it seems to be surmountable. I am sucked into my family’s expectations or are they my expectations?
Now that I have written about not being able to write I feel as though I may have wiggled one marble out of the bag. Perhaps other ideas will come easier now. One marble at a time and then the ideas will flow easily. They will pour out freely and uninhibited.
It is a nice August day. The air is still and warm. Not too hot. Just perfect. Teela decides that she wants to go outside so I follow despite my not wanting to. I would prefer to lay on the couch and watch a movie. (Movies are great. They take my mind off my life for about two hours. Keep’em coming I say.) Craig is working in the garage so Teela is pulled there with magnetized energy.
We go out to the garage and Teela is distracted with Craig. She wants to help him. I am glad for this. I have less responsibilities if he is watching her too. I pull up a lawn chair and sit and watch the two of them. I am ready if Craig needs me to attend to Teela. I am talking to him about the guilt I feel regarding not working and living off him yet I can not move to change it. I am sharing with him my confusion about working and wondering about life. All of a sudden I struggle to breathe. I am trying to catch my breath. Long deep gasps for air. I walk around following Teela as I am breathing deeply and slowly. After a minute or two I am breathing normally again. This is normal for me these days but Craig has not noticed it until now.
Craig stops what he is doing, stands and watches me. When I am fine he asks, “Do you do that often?” I tell him that I do. I must confess that I am pleased Craig noticed. Normally he doesn’t see me. He actually noticed my breathing. I am surprised and happy. He seems concerned. This makes me happy. I like being noticed by him. I just wish I didn’t have to be breathing funny to get his attention.
I fell in love with my husband for the way he loved me. He is loyal and loves with all his heart. I trust him to be faithful. He is a very traditional man. But I must confess that I have always wondered why he loves me. He has only asked me for my opinion maybe five to ten times in the decade we have been together. And those times were for simple things, like “What route should we take?” or “Do you want a tap with a spray nozzle?”
He has never asked my opinion on anything from the heart. He has never asked for my opinion in one of his debates he tries to start with me about something economical or political that I don’t care about. I think he starts those debates to prove something to himself – that his idea is fabulous and flawless. Now, when something is wrong with me all he cares about is my paycheque. We are living each month, paying our bills. Yet I am made to feel like crap from him. I feel like crap all on my own. I put enough guilt on my shoulders that his guilt buckles my knees and I am laying on the ground unable to get up because the pressure is suffocating me. He lovingly gives these gifts of guilt to me as means of support, to boost me and motivate me to do something more with my life. That is how he feels I need help.
I do feel guilty that he is supporting all of us. That was never the plan. I do want my own money. I love making my own money. This is the first time since I was eleven years old that I have not had my own money to buy things.