Weekend or End of Rope?

Good bye! Have a good time at C's house!

Thank god, I mumble as I turn back to the house and my family drives off. Oh, come off it, don't judge me, you'd be happy too.

I look around my kitchen: the counters are scattered with dirty dishes, the floor sticky, soggy cereal in a bright orange bowl on the table. The toy room.... don't even look in there. Papers are piled on the den table and various toys and inside-out clothes are on the floor and couch. Winter coats, yet to be put away for the season (you never know when you are going to need them around these parts) are filling and falling off the pegs in the hallway, while boots, skates, gloves, and hats overflow from the bin, which, in a fit of organization I had put there to contain the winter necessities. Clothes in various stages of clean are busting out of the laundry room while the washer and dryer continue to chug away at their endless duty. The kids' room looks like a library and teddy bear factory collided, and the office (MY writing room) has more baskets of laundry than this blog has complaints. My desk has pans of sprouting seeds in the place where my laptop should sitting sprouting words instead.

Later today, I have to work - yes, on a Saturday - at a fundraiser. Last night I made a casserole (and I hate to cook) and ran to the grocery store for emergency vittles for said fundraiser. All I want to do is stay in the house and make it habitable again. Then I want to sit here and WRITE.

I think I ran out of hours at, "I have to work."

I can't do this anymore. My job, although I have cut my hours, is sucking the life out of me. I am not meant to be sitting behind someone else's desk listening to a co-worker barking orders and opinions to anyone who will listen. My "job" is to be everything that I have the potential to be. I am wasting my time for a lousy paycheck when I could be using those hours to pursue and excel at a writing and journal therapy career. Every minute that I spend eating donuts at a 5-hour management team meeting is a minute I could be spending on something that brings me joy and fulfillment.

When you consider buying masks to cover your children's faces for fear of pig-sty flu, it might be time to dedicate more time to cleaning. When your blog visits you in the night begging to be paid attention, it might be time to say no, I will not work this weekend. And when you are crying because that essay idea you had has vanished along with the 4th cup of cold coffee drunk while madly filling the dishwasher in the 2 seconds left before you have to leave for work, it might just be time to slow down, take a breath and say, "what the hell am I doing?"

And when someone at work decides you no longer need your own desk because you only work 18 hours, it might be a clue that it is time to leave all together.

If I am going to listen to my own advice about manifesting dreams and thinking positively I must do what I love. Magic happens when you pursue your dreams. Ignore them and you will not be happy.

Now, that I have gotten that off my chest, I must be back to sweeping up cat litter and stuffing four people's worth of snow attire into an already bulging closet.

P.S. I have so much more to write about the trip to England... please, stay tuned... and thank you, "Followers" for following!

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