Monday following Mom week always presents a problem. I’m behind on everything, it seems, because I haven’t touched my computer in at least six days. I have blog posts to write, tweets to schedule, folks to keep up with on Facebook, and a work in progress to plug some meaningful words into. And that’s just the day job. We’re not counting the house that needs cleaning, laundry that needs washing, the shopping I must do if we’re going to eat this week.
But, truth be told, it isn’t as bad as all that. Well, the house is, but otherwise it isn’t so bad. Come Monday morning of any week, not just the one following Mom week, I still have blog posts to write, tweets to schedule, folks to keep up with, and a WIP to work on. It all just feels different, more urgent, when I’ve been gone a while.
I woke up at 3:30 in a state of panic because I’m so far behind. How silly is that? And yet, it’s what I do every Monday-after-Mom. I toss and turn in the early hours, trying to get back into the swing of business. What do I blog about? How do I write the upcoming scene?
Today is a bit different from the usual after-Mom Monday, because we’re in November–the month that belongs to my husband. Which is the primary reason I don’t participate in NaNoWriMo. We’re gone more often than we’re home, and when we’re home, the ability to concentrate on anything for any length of time is nigh unto nil, and I’m wracked with the panic that comes with knowing I have so much to do and so little time to do it in.
So, now it’s 5:15, and I’m writing this. I gave up on going back to sleep, because it ain’t happenin’. I have too much to do in too short a period of time–and all the while, the part of my brain that isn’t screaming at me to get to work is telling me to settle down, it isn’t as bad as all that. The world isn’t going to end if I don’t get a blog post written. No one is going to care if a tweet from me doesn’t land in their feed, Facebook friends will go on doing what they do, and my WIP will be here, waiting for me.
I wish the part of my brain screaming at me to get to work would listen to the part of my brain telling me to chill out.
Good morning, Monday.