Is it so horrible to want to sit down and enjoy a nice cup of tea, read a good book, or work out a plot problem in a WIP without having to rush around feeling like not only did I not get to stop and smell the roses, that I forgot to plant them at all?
This constant 'on-ness' of modern life is really starting to pall for me. Everyone seems to be rushing hither and yon without any concern for those they pass, and I stand in their wake, quietly amused. Where's the fire? What's the rush?
If you die tomorrow, you're still going to be just as behind as you are today.
Sometimes--okay, I admit a lot of times--I am glad I don't have children, because I think I would be caught up in the plight of mothers (and fathers) everywhere: that they are chauffeurs, existing only to please their children. They cart the little darlings here and there without stopping for supper or to smell the roses. Heck, most of them aren't really sure what roses are anymore.
Or, then again, I think that I just wouldn't be able to do it. I would be branded as a horrible parent when I told my children that sure, they could play softball, basketball, and be on the track team, but they would have to arrange their own transportation.
You do realize this isn't what I intended to blog about at all. I'm not even certain where this is coming from. I'm alone tonight, and fairly content. My mind is full of half-formed stories, which are really messing with my concentration tonight (so it's a good thing I did file my taxes yesterday evening, in truth.) I had an okay day at work, and an okay drive home. Mabel and I went on a longish walk involving the other half of the short block, and she got scared, but otherwise everything is fine.
So, on that note, I think I will retire early and try to write. At the moment, writing is my current frustration, and has nothing to do with transporting children.
This constant 'on-ness' of modern life is really starting to pall for me. Everyone seems to be rushing hither and yon without any concern for those they pass, and I stand in their wake, quietly amused. Where's the fire? What's the rush?
If you die tomorrow, you're still going to be just as behind as you are today.
Sometimes--okay, I admit a lot of times--I am glad I don't have children, because I think I would be caught up in the plight of mothers (and fathers) everywhere: that they are chauffeurs, existing only to please their children. They cart the little darlings here and there without stopping for supper or to smell the roses. Heck, most of them aren't really sure what roses are anymore.
Or, then again, I think that I just wouldn't be able to do it. I would be branded as a horrible parent when I told my children that sure, they could play softball, basketball, and be on the track team, but they would have to arrange their own transportation.
You do realize this isn't what I intended to blog about at all. I'm not even certain where this is coming from. I'm alone tonight, and fairly content. My mind is full of half-formed stories, which are really messing with my concentration tonight (so it's a good thing I did file my taxes yesterday evening, in truth.) I had an okay day at work, and an okay drive home. Mabel and I went on a longish walk involving the other half of the short block, and she got scared, but otherwise everything is fine.
So, on that note, I think I will retire early and try to write. At the moment, writing is my current frustration, and has nothing to do with transporting children.
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