I've been busy as of late, and I'm doing my best to balance out home and family and work and fun stuff, like blogging. It hasn't been easy, but I'm trying.
Remember how I blogged that work was getting easier? It didn't last. Work, my friends, has been trying. I can't get any deeper than that, and it bugs me. I'm an open book, but I can't talk about work in this space. And if I can't write about it? I'm screwed. Let's just say that work has been trying.
I've got a lot of anger and resentment over an old, old situation, and I can't let go of it. I should, because it's stupid. But in the interest of moving on, and acknowledging that it's all water under the bridge, I'm trying.
My house is a mess. I work on keeping it clean, but because our babysitter has been out of commission for the last few days, Hannah's been visited by her grandmother at our house. I try not to let it bother me, but this morning, it really bugged me. I'm trying.
Lately, it seems like that's all I'm doing: trying. Trying to keep the house clean, trying to keep work stress from invading my home life, trying to get over things. I'm doing so much trying, I've realized there isn't much doing. How is that possible? Lately I feel like I'm doing too much--but I'm not. I'm trying to do it all, but I can't.
I wish I had an answer, or magic pill, or magic wand, or my very own Ask Jeeves who could help me out here. I hate feeling all spread out. I hate not feeling organized. I find I keep saying, "I'm trying....I'm trying..." but it's just not good enough. I keep telling myself that if something were to fall into place, everything else would go along with it. If work suddenly became less stressful. If Hannah suddenly decided that tearing apart the house wasn't so much fun after all. If....gah!
Spinning my wheels is irritating, and I can only spin for so long before I've had enough of myself. Don't you hate that feeling?