You know when you're pulled in many different directions? And you have lists upon lists of things to do and to pack and to remember? And you have emails and texts dinging away on your phone? And various piles of paperwork that needs dealing with?
And you're answering and you're doing it and you're keeping up and sure, yes, thanks, you are busy, but no thanks, I've got it, and you are keeping your head above that water and getting it done?
And then...you're caught up.
And you sit down to get back to your regular life.
And you have no idea what you were doing?
That's me right now. I had Madison's dance competition to prepare for and preschools to call for Reagan and doctor's appointments to schedule and thank you notes to get ordered and sent and bills to pay and emails to respond to and a pile to deal with and another pile to deal with and a car that needed cleaning and a house that needed cleaning and a fridge that needed cleaning and a pile of stuff from Reagan's room redecoration that needed dealing with.
Now all that stuff is done, and I'm sitting at Starbucks, time to write upon me, time to breathe beckoning...
And my mind has just been wiped clean.
I'm glancing through drafts, and none seem to be speaking to me. I'm looking through my scribbled notes, and they don't seem to make sense.
I went to several stores on my way here, with definite reasons for driving my car to and parking at said stores, and ended up wandering aimlessly around, with no idea of what I was looking for or why I entered the store in the first place.
I hurry the girls down for rest time, ready to tackle my chores, only to drift aimlessly around my to-do list, never getting anything done.
But when I'm actually under the gun, this doesn't happen.
It's like if I'm not stressed and under a deadline, I'm just sort of ... drifting.
What is this? When it's actually something important, I can knuckle down and get it done. I was prepared for that dance competition. My kid's dance bag was stocked and organized and every single eye shadow brush had her name labeled. But my dining room table...not so much. If I have a deadline, I can manage to write about anything, from Depends to Monster Trucks. When I don't, I look at drafts with random sentences and think what? When we need to get out of the house on time, we do. I have never once been late to dance or the doctor or any of the events we go to. But when I try to get us out of the house to the gym or the library, it's a nightmare of rushing and brushing and shoes and coats and wait, I forgot to eat my breakfast!
I seriously don't get it. And don't try to give me the "you just have to make deadlines for yourself" nonsense. My brain doesn't do that. Trust me. I've tried. I write my gym time in my planner, to make it seem more official, but my brain scoffs at that. I make very specific to do lists. Nope. I assign myself deadlines. Nope. My brain realizes that these are imposters, things where the world will keep spinning if I miss them, and therefore, not worthy of high functioning neurons, no matter how many times I try to trick it.
I'm really hoping that this is the last bit of winter slush being cleared from my mind. Spring is coming - it is - and my brain will come out of hibernation and wake up refreshed and ready to work on regular days, not just when something is hovering over me with lightning bolts.
And if it doesn't, would someone be willing to hang around me with lightning bolts? Because I really need to get this laundry done.
Next paragraph here.