I hit the wall.
The wall has been hit.
I smacked my little head against the brick and mortar at 100 MPH.
4:30am, I'm wide awake. I have a third book to complete. I have curriculum to prepare. There is laundry in the dryer. The shower needs cleaning. My legs need shaving. The dog had an accident on the rug. Ortho appointment. Groomer. I have to fit in my exercises.
Head meet wall.
I admitted to myself this fine Tuesday morning that, I can't do it all. I just can't.
I am asked quite often, "How do you do it all? How do you homeschool, write books, and clean the house?" I reply, "I don't know?" I'm not being modest or cute. I seriously don't know. I used to think I could or I was or I did.
You know what happens when I write for two years? I don't eat, but when I do, it's not all that healthy. I drink wine to calm the voices that command me to keep typing. I gain weight and one day I look in the mirror and say, "What the hell happened?"
You know what happens when I homeschool Logan? I beam. I'm in my happy place. I'm watching my son evolve into an awesome young man filled with knowledge and respect for life and people. I stop and remember that I have to finish laundry, vacuum, clean, paint the guest bedroom, exercise the two years of wine and crap.
When I'm reading. I'm not writing. When I'm schooling. I'm not cleaning. When I'm exercising. I'm not writing.
I don't ask for help. I hate asking my husband to do the dishes or put the laundry away. Not because he's a douchecanoe. Further from it, in fact, he gets upset when I don't ask. I have the mentality of, he's been working all day. I know I have as well, but it's my pride. My pride is a stubborn wench. But, she was punched in the throat today.
Well, I plan on going to bed early and, I'll wake up tomorrow and it will be the best day ever (Logan's motto). I will be awesome. I will be fabulous. And, I will fail. What I won't complete tomorrow, I have the next day, and the next day. And, God willing, I will continue to wake up each morning until I'm 100 years old.
I can't do it all. But, I'm doing something.
My son is watching me and Phil do something. We are contributing to--life.
My brain is mush today, but I will super glue it back together, (after I take a damn nap), and I will succeed and fail teaching, writing, mothering, wifeing?, daughtering, cleaning...because I can't do it all.
We can't do it all.
And, that's OK!
It's OK to hit the wall.
Don't physically, I don't want a lawsuit.
Being an author isn't some adorable hobby, I found meowing under my porch. It's my job. I work. Contrary to what some may think. Teaching my son is work. His educational success rests on my shoulders. No pressure. I flit through social media sites throughout the day, that doesn't mean I'm not doing something pertaining to my existence.
So, go do something...anything. Even if you crash into the wall and your pride crashes and burns.
At least you are leaving your mark on the wall.
That's all you're getting for a metaphor.
While wearing my tiara.