Pausing for a moment in my parka and boots to think if I have everything I look out the window and I see Chances looking up at me through the door window excited. His whole body is wagging. I am excited to see him so enthusiastic for our walk. It is nothing new. He has been this way since he joined our family not even a year ago. His excitement to be with me never grows old.
I can’t think of anything else I need so I open the door and Chances immediately goes from upright wagging tail dog to sitting patiently but bouncing for glee inside. He is waiting for his treat. I noticed this habit last week. He was jumping for my hands, nipping and licking them looking for food. In that moment I realized I had been packing a peanut butter sandwich with me lately for our walks and he got use to them more than I did. Funny how habits form. Well today my hands are empty and since he is anticipating a peanut butter sandwich I want to get him one. He is such a good puppy.
I open the door telling him I will be right back. He looks at me and cocks his head to the side wondering what is up. He heard his name but I am not giving or doing anything exciting to his knowledge. I make a peanut butter sandwich and begin to head out again. Handing him pieces of torn bread as we walk. It occurs to me that I forgot a hanky. I need a hanky on my walks. Once again I tell him I will be right back and head back inside. After grabbing that necessity I put my hand on the door handle. He sees me through the window and is excited. Almost jumping out of his skin. He has a look in his eye, are we going now, huh, are we? I realize I need to use the washroom. I won’t go. I look into his puppy dog eyes and he is so excited. I don’t want to hold him back from his this moment any longer. These morning walks are the highlight of his day and I’m taking forever to get out the door. I won’t make him wait.
SMACK! Awareness hits me. I have done this before. I have held off going to the bathroom for Craig – not wanting to be an inconvenience – and I’m even doing it for my dog! The most devoted and forgiving being in my house!
“We leave the office and I stand in the hall thinking I should go to the washroom but second guess that because I don’t want take up any more of Craig’s time away from work. I hop on the elevator not saying much to Craig.”
Excerpt from Sunlight
When will this self-sacrificing end?! When will I stop putting basic needs of mine in second place? I wonder if I will battle self-sacrifice issue my entire life? Karma gives me this lesson to bare and I wonder what I did in a past life to require it. Noticing these little moments is the beginning of change. Flicking on my awareness switch two years ago has allowed more and more lights to come one. Albeit they are slower than I would like but I guess that is part of the journey.
Craig is snoring and I had caffeinated tea with a neighbour tonight. I can’t sleep so I face the evening chill, wrapped in my fluffy housecoat, to walk to the basement where my office resides. I will write.
I write about our marriage. I don’t get back to bed until 1 am. Then MySelf wakes me up at 5:30. I fought with Myself until 6:10 and now I am writing again. I would have been disappointed if I never wrote today. I would have felt I was behind in making my dreams come true, writing my childhood memoir.
I want to be able to have Craig not stressed and me doing what I love and enjoy. Writing has been making me happy for the last couple of weeks. I don’t want it to stop. Perhaps it is just some kind of therapy for me and it won’t amount to anything more than that. One way or another I feel it will fix me.
The only issue is that I am not really writing what I want to write about, or what I thought I would write about. Most of these last few weeks writing have felt more like journaling about my burnout than about my childhood. Too be honest, I am feeling frustrated with the writing I have been doing. It doesn’t have all the wonderful colours and charm that my story of Rose Valley should have.
I get up every morning and sit here, in my office between 5am and 7am and all I seem to be doing is journalling. I am just venting. Writing about all that upsets me and depresses me during the day. I had hoped this would turn into a memoir about my childhood with my sisters. I do not see it. I will finish my 30 day contract and see what I have got. See if there is a story in here somewhere.
*Sorry for my post being so late. I am working on finishing my book by Saturday.
Saturday is my deadline!*
It feels good to set my alarm clock each morning. I feel like I have a purpose. A small one. It is just for me, but it is a bit of something sweet to my day.
I have dumped out my garbage, the first step in Tom Bird’s book. I hope I got it all. The next step is to write my story. Before you start writing your masterpiece you create a contract binding you to working for thirty days on your writing, according to Mr. Bird. I do this and send it out to seven people. Requiring them to hold me accountable. Seven people who I feel safe with and I know will encourage me onwards. I should have my contract fulfilled by November 19th. I am pumped!
My husband is not one of these seven people and it bothers me.
I begin writing. I start by doing some mind-mapping to get my juices flowing. I put the subject of a memoir of my childhood in the middle of the page and then let topics flow out from that. I keep doing this until one of those topics cause me to write and write and write.
I do this for almost half an hour. Tom Bird says it could take fifteen minutes so clearly there must be something wrong with me. My brain eventually finds a topic. I run with it and my writing begins.
After a week of getting up to write my story I am questioning my writing. I am not sure where this is going. My ‘story’ feels more like a journal. I wake up every day at five o’clock in the morning just to bitch for an hour and a half. I can not seem to shift it to be a memoir, or account of my life in Rose Valley, or anything else. I didn’t think I would write about these thoughts. Over and over again I write about what I am going through right now. I can not seem to shake it. Especially when it is the same fiasco day in and day out. It is driving me crazy.
It doesn’t seem that long ago that I got up in the night and wrote down the beginning of what I thought would be a family memoir. Those magical words that came to me so simply. They just slipped into my brain the night Craig and I watched Eat, Pray, Love. How come words are not coming so easily to me now?
Maybe I am stuck because I allow thoughts and events to block me from letting my creativity flow – like Craig’s pressure on me. I have noticed that when I write my best it is after I have stood up to Craig. How can he affect my creativity? Or is it me affecting my creativity? It isn’t every fight. It is the fights where I make myself the most vulnerable to him. Those fights where I am strong and my heart bursts through a wall I have up. Those are the times that I feel art comes out of me – my mind is clear – and the process is easy. It doesn’t make any sense.