Ever since I've been home full-time, I've been practicing a manic kind of procrastination. Instead of living in the moment of being home with my children, instead of taking this precious time and using it to make myself a happier, healthier person, by doing yoga, exercising, and writing, I'm decluttering my house. It's one of those things you can twist around to sound positive ("think of how calming it will be when our house is decluttered and we can invite people over without having to clean for four hours first") but it's actually more of a deer-in-the-headlights moment. I'm finally home alone with my children. I'm not working for the first time in two decades. Yet, instead of living my dream, I'm letting guilt ("how'd I get so lucky, when so many people are barely able to put food on the table with mutiple jobs") and frenetic energy take over and send me through the house, decluttering one drawer at a time.
But today, something interesting happened. I ran out of things to do. Both kids have been sick all week. I've been decluttering in tiny increments because I can't spend much time away from them. My downstairs is about as done as it can get. When I awoke this morning, my plan was to do the studio space and maybe also move my son's dresser upstairs to their bedroom. (It's heavy, but I figured with a blanket on the stairs I could slide it up.) Then, this afternoon, both kids fell asleep. So, obviously, I couldn't declutter upstairs.
I stayed downstairs and finished off my cardboard boxes for tampons. (They didn't turn out as great as that crafty blogger's did. I'll post about that later.) I worked on my book trailer video. (For The Truth About Dating. I'll post when it's ready). I got all our paperwork together for taxes. I made some phone calls. I fought the urge to check my book sales. I started to fold the laundry and then realized my husband had done it already. I went through my to-do list and crossed off everything I could do downstairs. And then I had nothing. So I worked on my novel. Then I did fifty sit-ups, down from the two-hundred I'd been doing before I left my job, but up from the zero I'd done since January. I practiced the piano. I thought about the next scene in my novel. I worked on my novel again. The kids are still sleeping. I'm actually bored, which is why I'm blogging. I'm bored! Do you have any idea how long it has been since I've been bored???? When I finish this blog, I'm going to do another fifty sit-ups. Then I'm gonig to read the Dining In, Dining Out section of yesterday's New York Times. Then I think I'll wake up the kids. I want someone to play with me.