Can’t keep up? I’ve got an idea…

Oh my gosh. my simple desire is to keep things simple. Seriously. Everything is so complicated, especially in my head.

Over thinking. Over analysis. Over emotional.  Over budget. Over time. Over craziness. Over under.


My brain…most of the time



It’s too much. We put all of these demands on ourselves, on others, on our lives and can’t keep the fuck up. What is our problem? Everyone at my work is stressed. My boss snapped at me because she can’t keep up. My collegue runs around red-faced and tense like a firecracker about to blow. I whip home after an hour or so of overtime, to arrive just on time to take one kid to piano, drop the other one at piano. Run in the grocery store for the desperately-needed items we can’t live without one more day without the school calling about my malnourished children, go back and get the first kid, back to get the second one – the third kid screaming “THIS IS BORING!” from the back seat because some law tells me I can’t leave a 7-yr old at home alone (what’s that about?!) – to get home to have what for dinner? Eggs? Again? If I remembered to pick them up. Nope, I didn’t. Damn. Well, have some toast and be done with it. You’ll live.

And then, I’m not writing, but just obesessing about writing and wanting to write and what I should write about and what’s my brand and will anyone read my shit anyway and am I even good enough and when do I even have time to write and how can I leave my job so I have time to write, but then I won’t have any money, so maybe I start my own business, but doing what because that will take time and money I don’t have and I need to pay my mortgage and wish I could just write and make a shitload of money, but that’s not realistic because we all know the success rates of poets and writers and artists. So where does that leave me?

Not writing and becoming a bear, a beast and a bitch.

Yeah, it’s too much.

My husband just shakes his head at me at my latest temper tantrum break down because I complained, cried and cursed that I don’t have time to write and I can’t keep doing this. He just said “You do this to yourself. You do your whoa is me thing saying you need time to write and that you’re miserable, but then 2 hours later you’re telling me everything we need to do this weekend – all things you are choosing to do that we don’t have to do.” Of course, my reaction is that he clearly doesn’t understand and there’s no way that’s right and we need to do something about this whole time thing and you’re not really hearing me…blah, blah blah. Until the next morning, when the sun’s out and my girls are playing happily and I have time to sit and sip my chai latte, and pull out my computer,  and finally see his  simple wisdom. Fuck. It’s all totally on me. My choices. My decisions to fill up my time with things from the outside rather than to fill my time with things that fill me up on the inside.

So, here’s the big earth-shattering realization that this post is all about:

Can’t keep the fuck up? SLOW THE FUCK DOWN!

(Not only the theme of this blog post, but clearly my latest idea for an inspriational coffee mug.)

So, here’s the advice I now have for you after going through these latest self-affirming moments of torture:

  • Know what your thing is that fills you up on the inside.
  • Look at your day/week/month and figure out what you’re doing that you don’t really need to. You know the things – they’re usually guilt-driven or procrastination-driven.
  • Look at what is taking up space in your brain. What are you obsessing about and becoming bitchy about?
  • Ask yourself “Do I even ever play, like at all?”
  • Now, speak up to those around you and say “Enough! I’m done! I need time to just be.” Bring them into it. So they know where you’re at so they can help.
  • Then do it. Take enough pride and honour in yourself to do your thing simply because it’s your thing and you love it.

That’s it really. That last bullet. Slowthe fuck down by starting to simply do your thing just because you love it. That’s it…

…and its working. See? I’m writing again.

That’s my simple desire.