Blogging just does not seem to be fitting with my life at the moment. It is becoming just one more of those things that I can’t fit in. But I desperately want to, I desperately want to have those memories that I can look back on. I have visions of when they’ve all left home, at least I’ll have my little blog to relive it all. (Although hopefully I’ll be travelling the world or doing something altogether more exciting.)
But it just doesn’t seem to be fitting with my working life, it’s vastly becoming one of those things that just doesn’t get done. There isn’t anyone to set a deadline for writing a post. No-one is going to tell me off if I don’t write tonight. But in the same vein, I don’t want to regret not writing it, don’t want the memory of a post to fade before I’ve put pen to paper.
And so here I am, midnight and writing, midnight and in 6 hours the alarm goes off to begin again. To begin the cycle of work and washing and little people’s fun but not of writing and crafting and reading. For those things seem to be squeezed out and they are so very hard to drag into the hurly burly of everyday life.
I keep thinking, there must be someone who manages to write with a full time job? There must be someone who has 3 children and writes and gets more than 6 hours sleep? I want to meet them. I need to read them.
Just need to sleep faster and more efficiently methinks.