I want to push, push, push.
I am inspired to be doing something at all times.
I don't want to rest.
And then the baby calls. The kitchen needs to be cleaned. Snacks need to be made. Laundry needs to be done.
And all the ideas in my head, the ways to innovate, the things to write, the things to DO, get pushed aside.
That was not the pushing I wanted to do.
It isn't really the time for me to start new things. It isn't the time to go back to school. But it is the time to write. If I make time. Which I have to do. My eyes are already surrounded by skin the color of dried potato skins. Makeup isn't helping much. I don't want to grow old and look terrible at my age. I want to look good. But I only have so much TIME.
Time is money. Time is scarce. I want to work. I want to find a publisher. Or an agent. I want to start working on my workouts. Building another brand. Another passion of mine. I want, I want, I want.
I also do NOT want to neglect my children or husband. I am glad to play. And do homework. And cook dinner. I am glad that I am the one there for all those things. I am glad that I put them to bed, not someone else. But now it is time to work. The lights are going out all over the city and that is my cue to pick up the pen or the bring out the computer and start working.
I need to buy a desk. I feel like a desk will make me more responsible. That will magically bring me more time.
Or it will be one more thing to dust.
Ok, hush. Time to push. This time a different kind of baby. My book.