I don't know whether I'll be able to finish this blasted story anymore. It's a cute irony. I finally brainstormed a solution to the convoluted plot I created. I nailed down who's good, who's bad, and who's playing both sides and to what degree. I couldn't come up with this a couple of months ago for anything. But now it doesn't seem to matter. I don't have the heart or the energy to revise what I've written so far to firmly reflect what I've decided about the characters, and I can't write the last few chapters at all. All my energy is wrapped up in the singularly engaging project of growing a new human being. I don't seem to have space in me to share that energy with anything else.
The children want me to be home. They want me to do homeschool with them, which is flattering albeit impossible. Oh, yeah, I recognize this mood. Let's see, I believe it was in April or May. Let me check...
Sometimes I look back at certain, critical junctures of my life and find myself growing thoughtful. Once upon a time, I passed through one door and swung shut another. What if I had reversed that scenario? What if my criteria for making life-altering decisions had been ordered differently? What if the most life-altering choices in life weren't settled in my glorious-but-oblivious youth?
Yep, that's the mood and it was indeed in May. The good news is I entered into a highly creative and productive phase a month later. The real question is, can I multitask this time around? At this moment, I'm ready to take my story and kick it to the curb. Of course, in the mood I'm in, I'm ready to offer it the company of hubby, too.
I do believe this calls for a moratorium on any curb-kicking, and I shall enjoy a dish of rainbow sherbet and an episode of well-being inducing television fluff.