Pressure

What is making you feel under pressure right now?  One of the writing workshop blog ideas from sleep is for the weak.

Every morning “I’m Yours” by Jason Mraz wakes me up at 5:30am.  Every morning I quickly shut it off before Maya wakes up and then proceed to squirm back under my duvet, pretending it’s Saturday.  Every morning (except Saturday, of course) I realize that it is indeed NOT Saturday and I silently whimper, rub my eyes, and then swing my legs out of bed.  My day begins and I’m on the go for the next eighteen hours.

It’s just me.  It wasn’t supposed to be just me- this was to be a team effort, but life hasn’t unfolded as I envisioned.  I do the best I can to be understanding and not fall prey to bitterness.  There are days when it’s nearly impossible to keep an open heart- like right now.  While I’m struggling to stay awake simply to write for an hour before Maya’s last feeding and my crash into bed, someone else is doing whatever they please.  Write as they wish.  Exercise as they want.  Sleep, eat, do anything at any moment.  I do not in any way, shape, or form, have that luxury.

However, that last bit is not meant to serve as a bitch session.  It’s merely the back-story to the pressure drowning me.

I have to sort my life out.  Now.  If it’s just going to be myself and Miss Maya for a while, then I need to make more money and I need to make it soon.  This equates into either a) I finish that damn story and seriously push myself to discover creative ways in which to earn money or b) I forget writing and return to school to finish my nursing degree.  I set a deadline for myself and if I haven’t made substantial progress (re novel), it’s back to school.  Either way, I’d like to finish my bachelor’s, but these next five months will determine if I grow some testicles and venture into creative writing or if I play it safe and spend the rest of my days in a clinic or hospital.

I’m starting to listen to the voice in my head that keeps telling me time is running out.

I suppose that’s also why my critical head-voice is getting louder and more persistent.  Lose weight.  Exercise.  Do something with your hair.  Slap on some make-up, for Pete’s sake.  Figure out a way to diminish that C-section scar.  How do you ever expect to attract anyone looking the way you do?  Sort it out, chubbers.  The critical voice in my head is not kind or understanding. It looks at magazine ads and expects me to look like the air-brushed models.  The critical voice tells me I should be back into my old clothes by now.  Voice of reason whispers otherwise, but rarely can I hear it.

I want more.  I want my finances in order so I can buy a sweet craftsman house with a lovely backyard in which Maya can play ’til her heart’s content.  I want a dog.  I want to earn more moolah so that I can upgrade instead of downsize and not have to worry about my finances.  I want to have my old body back.  I want some sleep and time to write.

I want it all and I feel like time is sliding through my fingers.  Maya is nearly 4 months old and before I know it she’ll be 4 years old and then 14 years old.  Josh is 16 already, so I know how fast time flies.  I need to do all of this now.

There is no more time to waste, but now I can’t find the time to make it happen.

I need some help from the universe.