This morning I was awake at 5 a.m. because I was worried about waking up at 6:15 a.m. I managed to get the 14-year olds up and out the door right on time. I delivered them and their 13-year old friend to the appropriate classrooms for the dreaded state-mandated testing and then I was home again by 7:30 a.m.
You’d think that with the extra hours of consciousness today I would have something to show for my day besides a kitchen full of dirty dishes. At one point I noticed how annoyed I was with myself, how I silently berated myself for not doing anything today, for not producing anything. My day was a haphazard maze of moments tangled together . . . I have the same allotment of time as everyone else, so why do I fall into bed at night without having much to show for my day?
My brain was dull today, glossed over so nothing could stick to it. Not a single thought would line up at the door. I hate that. The noises of children playing thudded in my head and made me wonder why I thought being a mother would be such a barrel of fun. I guess I thought I’d sweep them into a pile and put them away when I was tired of playing with them.
And so it goes. Tomorrow will be another early day. My only goal for tomorrow is to write that long overdue letter to my imprisoned friend and to buy laundry detergent. I fix my hopes on these small goals, which is pathetic, if you ask me.