Daily Goal 500 words.
Yesterday I wrote 0 words.
Sundays/Stories Finished: 3/0.
I think days are dreadfully long, now that I have a kid. Random people, distant relatives, strangers on the bus, keep saying, Enjoy it while it lasts, before you know it she'll be grown up. You've heard that cliche, I am sure. I don't think it's all true, but it isn't all wrong either. Days with a kid are dreadfully long, sometimes, but on the other hand, you never really get to the bottom of things.
One example is the dishes (I don't own a dishwasher). I used to like washing dishes. Doing them gave me back some energy after dinner. Otherwise, I'd just sit in front of the computer after eating and waste the evening. Then you meet someone - in my case I got married - and you are suddenly doing the dishes for two people. It is still enjoyable, but on occasions it becomes a little bit of a hassle: If you don't watch out a mountain can pile up. A baby uses up an incredible amount of plates and cups and spoons: much more than a grown-up.
Now I am doing the dishes for what seems like four people and I have to do it while taking care of a baby. Furhtermore, I can't do them while she is asleep, or she'll wake up, which means I'll have to have them washed before she goes to bed at around seven o'clock in the evening.
I worry about them constantly. It is the same with doing the laundry, the cooking, the cleaning, and the shopping. The amount of milk one buys every trip to the mall. I have to bring my school bag, lest my arms fall off on the way back home. It is even a relief, when she's good, to bring the baby, because you can pile the groceries into the carriage.
What my point is - about time perception - is that it seems that one never really finishes anything. There isn't enough time to do all the stuff that needs doing. At some point in the future, I imagine, I will finally finish that metaphorical pile of dirty dishes. Suddenly I will find myself with time to spare again: time to think and to reflect. In hindsight I'll think, How time just flew away.
Yesterday I wrote 0 words.
Sundays/Stories Finished: 3/0.
I think days are dreadfully long, now that I have a kid. Random people, distant relatives, strangers on the bus, keep saying, Enjoy it while it lasts, before you know it she'll be grown up. You've heard that cliche, I am sure. I don't think it's all true, but it isn't all wrong either. Days with a kid are dreadfully long, sometimes, but on the other hand, you never really get to the bottom of things.
One example is the dishes (I don't own a dishwasher). I used to like washing dishes. Doing them gave me back some energy after dinner. Otherwise, I'd just sit in front of the computer after eating and waste the evening. Then you meet someone - in my case I got married - and you are suddenly doing the dishes for two people. It is still enjoyable, but on occasions it becomes a little bit of a hassle: If you don't watch out a mountain can pile up. A baby uses up an incredible amount of plates and cups and spoons: much more than a grown-up.
Now I am doing the dishes for what seems like four people and I have to do it while taking care of a baby. Furhtermore, I can't do them while she is asleep, or she'll wake up, which means I'll have to have them washed before she goes to bed at around seven o'clock in the evening.
I worry about them constantly. It is the same with doing the laundry, the cooking, the cleaning, and the shopping. The amount of milk one buys every trip to the mall. I have to bring my school bag, lest my arms fall off on the way back home. It is even a relief, when she's good, to bring the baby, because you can pile the groceries into the carriage.
What my point is - about time perception - is that it seems that one never really finishes anything. There isn't enough time to do all the stuff that needs doing. At some point in the future, I imagine, I will finally finish that metaphorical pile of dirty dishes. Suddenly I will find myself with time to spare again: time to think and to reflect. In hindsight I'll think, How time just flew away.
