Determined to write

I am participating in the
 Slice of Life.  
All participants are writing about one moment, one part of their day, 
on Tuesdays.
Thank you, Two Writing Teachers!

Whenever possible, I squeeze in a visit to see my Dad, who is 90 years old, and lives in a nursing home in Maine. I stay with my brother and sister-in-law, both retired, and I am filled with envy of their life together. Their home is tranquil, clean, beautiful, and simple, with lovely views of backyard woods. We sit and chat and relax. Last time I was there, gorgeous sunshine radiated through the windows and skylight, across my face and lap, as I curled up on their comfy sofa. I thought - give me DAYS like this, on my own, in a quiet, calm, cozy home, and I will write and write and write.

My daily reality is so different. Oh, my. This school year. Truly, I have never had such a tough start to a year...and here, a third of the way through the year, I have found a balance, but it is a fragile, walking-on-eggshell balance, where the slightest change in routine or plan or expectations, and, whoa, everything goes nutty again. There are too many children with many big needs, and a cast of adults that constantly changes. I no longer anticipate anything approximating calm, which makes those rare, surprise moments of quiet such a gift. I come home fatigued, worn, frazzled, with so many strands of thoughts - he said that, she did that, I need to do that, they want that, I have to remember that, we had that, what about that, why not that?! Voices of need ring in my ear...there is simply no end to the needs. I forget to take care of myself, eating the wrong things, moving too little, not taking time for me. I squeeze in writing that is superficial and tiny and brief...I do not have time or opportunity to write out the stories in my head.

I wonder...when the day finally comes that I have the time...when I have DAYS on my own, in a quiet, calm, cozy home...will I have any stories to write? Will I be able to grab the threads that I let go, during so many unending days? Will these still be stories I want to tell?