On a whim, I’m bailing on my last post. I don’t have it in me to write a “series”, I don’t think I can do it. Do you care? I can’t make promises of what I will and won’t share in this space. I don’t know myself what will appear in my next post until it spurts out of me. The more I put pressure on myself to say a certain thing, the less I know what to say and then I just can’t say anything at all. I’m not one for planning, having themes and what not. I wish I was, and of course, I have tried. I’m just not that organised. I’m not that way inclined. My spirit is so wriggly, it simply won’t conform to a printed schedule no matter how much I would like it to.
I am known in this house for my rollercoaster ways. I think it infuriates papawho no end. When I am gliding along, blurred limbs flying this way and that, and things are organised and the bills are paid and all the beds are made and I am Getting Things Done, I know I must enjoy it because the downward spiral is not far away. Does that sound dramatic? It’s not. I just have periods of togetherness followed undoubtedly by periods of confusion and each one precedes the other and the other and the other and it all flows in a lovely predictable cycle. It’s just the way I roll.
In my moments of confusion, which are generally aligned with periods of silence on this blog, I am confronted by many questions about my life, my path, myself. What my soul purpose is and what I am meant to be doing with my time, my skills. How I am meant to find a balance between motherhood and the rest of life – whatever “the rest” outside motherhood entails. Questions about motherhood, and whether I’m getting it right. Questions about the future. Questions about who I am and what I like. Questions about what I’m good at. I want someone to answer my questions for me, to tell me what to do. I want to be shown the way. I want to have a dream and wake up knowing. (The clothes are rarely washed or folded during this period.)
Inevitably I wake up again somewhat confused and sometimes motivated and sometimes not and I fumble around a bit and wash the dishes and wipe the baby’s face and read a book with a child on my lap and start all over again.
Oh gosh, this all sounds a bit foggy and strange doesn’t it. Or maybe you can relate. Maybe you go to bed with questions in your head and wish for a dream to tell you what to do too. Do you?