Going Through the Stacks

It seems like life is so frenzied right now. I know Gabe feels the same way because he asked me the other day, "Is there a weekend when we don't have something planned?" I know exactly how he feels because ever since we were married, moved house, came down with plague-pneumonia for a month and then were hurtled into the summer holidays (Graduations/Father's Day/ Class Reunions/BBQs/ & Birthday Parties) it seems like every moment is filled. I came up with a plan to have my story finished by the end of July and already I am sooo far behind.

Our house is filled with crap. We moved that kind of way where you just throw things in boxes and then they stay in boxes until you are like, where the hell is that ____? Then there's a mad search in which you come up with several other things that are not what you were looking for, but are nice to have around anyway. Our furniture just arrived and is sitting in neatly stacked boxes waiting to be assembled. And in the meantime, I have my writing, sorted into neat piles, waiting for me to give it the full time and love it needs.

I had a moment when I went through my desk and notes and organized all of my stories into neat little stacks, all lined up on the floor of my bedroom. Besides the obvious fire hazard and lack of real organization, this gave me the delightful experience of seeing that I've come up with not just one but at least four or five different novels over the last ten years, and countless little short stories and essays. It was good to see that even though I have produced nothing, my brain is still working away, creating little storylines that lay dormant until I have the chance to pick them up again.

It doesn't help that I'm now obsessed with Doctor Who. Gabe and I both seperately joke that we have our own TARDIS in our heart-- he because he is constantly producing outrageous heat-energy and me because I am able to travel anywhere in my mind and in my stories. I wish I did have a real TARDIS though-- then there'd be no more spending the majority of my time doing something completely unrelated to my life-goals. When I think about how much of my time, the raw percentage, that is spent in such activities I kind of want to scream. Even though I wish the solution was stepping into the Police Box and being whisked away, really it's going to come down to me. What kind of time can I carve out for myself, steal for myself among the unimportant and mundane? That's what it's going to come down to. Me fighting for every moment in which I can possibly be creating, and instead of spending that time to relax and vegetate (which is what I want to do most of the time).

Here's to fighting for every moment. I wish, Jonathan Coulton, that living every day like it counts was as easy as it sounds.