I wonder if the hectic nature of my life is simply perspective. It "seems" busy when it really isn't. There always seem to be things to do. Things in the calendar everyday. And there is always a certain pace in the house, maintained by many voices and many footsteps. There perpetual-motion machine that is our house. The respites are few and limited in duration. The hours between their bed and mine. The fleeting, momentary escapes.
But if this is life, if this is the baseline, then "busy" would mean something more than it does now. Busy would have to refer to those bits when the activities do not cease, continuing and overlapping in succession.
Does this perspective shift allow for some sort of relief? Would this stop me from answering, whenever the question of how things are going arises, that things are hectic? Would--should--this allow me to pick up the book I'm reading whenever the spare moment materializes? Or, will I continue to believe that I, too, must always be in motion? Using every moment.
Even now, stealing this time to write, my leg twitches as if I should be doing something.
But if this is life, if this is the baseline, then "busy" would mean something more than it does now. Busy would have to refer to those bits when the activities do not cease, continuing and overlapping in succession.
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| Keeping busy with The Three |
Even now, stealing this time to write, my leg twitches as if I should be doing something.
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