I don't really know where to start.
Sure the beginning is widely accepted as the most sensible starting place but rarely am I sensible or widely accepted for that matter.
Aside from that the beginning feels so far away I am not even sure where it is any more.
There are things in this world that makes us happy. As much as these things differ from person to person they still have a touch of universality to them. For me writing makes me happy. People reading that writing (or rather Google stats telling me people are reading that writing) makes me happy. Running makes me happy. As does a house that is clean and tidy, children's laughter and an abundance of free time.
Sadly none of those things have been around much lately.
Children have been unwell which has cut short both laughter and free time. A shortage of free time also means no time for things like running or writing. There are a thousand excuses for the state of the house though. The main one being I just don't want to.
Maybe I am stuck in a rut? Maybe I should just put it down to winter blues? Or perhaps the end of a long term at school. I don't know. They all sound like cop outs and weak excuses to tell you the truth.
You see, there is the rather large part of me, yelling at the rest of my feeling sorry for myself being, telling me to snap the hell out of it. Actually in my head I use the f word but I really don't like to use such words here (insert wonky halo).
At the end of the day I really don't feel that my complaints are justified. Because let's face it I am incredibly blessed. And in more ways than one.
The sick children I speak of are nothing more than coughs and colds. A result of their tropical little bodies not adjusting to the temperature changes and being stuck in over air conditioned buildings for most of the day. They are run down and exhausted from all that life entails, and like me just trying to hold out for the greatly anticipated school holidays.
They are not suffering a life threatening ailment or even a condition that is life debilitating or even anything with even a hint of seriousness to it. They are just not their normal healthy happy selves. Instead they are whingy, whiny and slightly more demanding than what I can rationally deal with on a regular basis. That's right them not feeling the best is starting to be a slight inconvenience to me. (Please step aside and make room for Mother of the year)
There are mothers out there who have chronically ill children. Who spend not days but weeks at a time, sitting next to a hospital bed that is occupied by their child. Who do so with a strength and grace that I hold full of admiration. I wonder how on earth they manage, but then I know of the powers that a mother can call on when she needs it most. I am blessed that I have never had a need to call on them personally. It makes me ashamed though to complain because I am fed up with the constant sniffles and coughs that we have been plagued with of late.
The lack of time I speak of? That I am trying to blame on sick children.
Well I am sure that if I stopped shooting silly little coloured balls at other silly coloured balls I would probably find myself with a lot more time on my hands. For some reason my mind seems to be oblivious to the fact that if I spent less time mindlessly escaping into a world of bubble popping, ball shooting fun, I would quite possibly be able to squeeze in a bit of exercise or wordsmithing.
Only I can't see past that because I am so desperate to escape from it all that I just run as fast as I can to the nearest, quickest exit. Idle games are ideal for that...
It is like a vicious circle of sorts.
More deep breaths.
I keep going to type that this has been a tough week for me (again). It has been. Well the dramatic and prone to exaggeration side of me thinks that it has been. The other side of me is again snapping me back to reality. Compared to many my week has been a walk in the park.
I have not just under gone life saving surgery, like a fellow blogger has.
I have not been left floating in the middle of an ocean because I was trying to flee my home in the hope of safety, like those off of Christmas Island have.
I have not just lost my best friend in a terrible motorcycle accident, the second close friend to lose their life in as many weeks, like a friend at school has.
I am not starving or fearful of where my next meal may come from, like so many around the world, particularly in West Africa.
Instead I have a roof over my head, food in my fridge and three beautiful children, who may at times drive me to distraction also fill my heart with love and laughter. Not only that I have more possessions and toys than many will ever have. The reason why my home is so untidy is because it is filled to the brim with stuff.
Yet I have the overwhelming urge to complain. Which is why I have not been writing. Who wants to read about such trivial complaints when there are real problems that they could be absorbing?
I know that it is all about perspective and apparently from my perspective this is what is important in my life but really? Really? Surely there has to be more?
One thing that my head keeps saying, that is not shouted down but some other part of my complex thinking unit, is
This too shall passIn the meantime, thanks for reading my drivel. Make sure you come back next week. I am off to interview a mother of an Olympic champion. That should bring some perspective.
It's Friday and I'm a Flogging my blogging