Thursday, 17 May 2012
Living the dream
One of the self-help books I didn't buy had huge spaces in which you could fill in answers. As I browsed, I realised I didn't actually have any answers to fill in. What was holding me back? How could I achieve my dreams? Difficult nuts to crack, especially if by 'my dreams' you mean 'finish painting the back wall' and 'mow the lawn'.
There have been some changes here: some unavoidable, some to be welcomed. Less paid work for me; extra help from a lovely lady who comes to spend time with Eldest. The house has started to look like a home rather than a place where we throw things dejectedly on the floor before sitting down with our heads in our hands.
But all this released pressure and contentment and extra time has left me rudderless. The advantage of being a headless chicken is not having anything to ponder with - no head to wonder where you are going. The other day I heard Tim Minchin on Desert Island Discs talking about how ridiculous the idea of eternal paradise after death seemed when people already couldn't work out what to do with their Saturday afternoons. And though I don't wish to deny anyone their dreams of paradise, I'm having much the same problem with my Thursday mornings.
(Tiredness doesn't help. In addition to our regular middle-of-the-night appointments with Eldest's orthotic legwear, Littlest has decided that now is the time to start waking up a full hour-and-a-half early, and shouting the house down with demands for toast. Yesterday at 8am, for want of anything better to do, the two of us were fully dressed and breakfasted and doing Zumba. Combined with going back to my Ashtanga yoga DVD the other night, today I find myself having difficulty moving my arms.)
So. Today I am baking a birthday cake, reading my self-help books and - by the looks of the rain outside the window - definitely not mowing a lawn. And I'm wondering, how do you even come up with the dreams you're supposed to be dreaming?