It’s only 8.13am in the morning, but I’m already tired. I suppose that’s because I’ve been up since 4+am.
‘What are you doing up at 4am?’ You must be thinking.
Well. I have a 6 month old kid, so even if my body doesn’t of its own accord wake me up at such ungodly hours, my dear son certainly will when amidst his dream-filled slumber something deep inside him screams for an ounce or more of milk.
My days are run on 24 hour shifts nowadays. That means… literally no breaks. Every waking hour I am either caring for Jamie or trying to frantically get work done or doing house chores. Well, discounting eating and sleeping and toilet time, of course.
With this Work At Home Mum arrangement, I doubt I will ever have any official leave the way you would if you work at a full time or even a part time job. It’s a bit mad, but I guess for now, I can manage it. I do wonder though if ever at time will come where my body will just give up on me for having been so harsh with it and never letting it relax or rest.
Actually, I should be blogging about stuff like this on this co-authored blog on motherhood that a friend and I have started up (YES, I do blog somewhere other than here). But I hate to cloud that space with too much negativity. Motherhood is a joyous experience, despite these tiring, rigourous routines we have to put up with in these early years. So I guess I feel I can only fully rant or be myself about it all in this personal blog of mine.
Dreams of ever publishing a novel are almost completely banished from my mind nowadays. Never mind the issue of finding time (for that can still be arranged somehow), it’s more a question of what could I possibly write. What intriguing tale could I have buried inside of me that anyone out there would even want to read?
Perhaps I should just focus on making money through my writing. Maybe that’s all that this gift of words that God has given me is for. For me to earn my keep. To supplement our family’s income so my son doesn’t die and so that I don’t use up space on this Earth with nothing to show for it.
Deric says I dwell on the morbid side of life. This is probably one of those instances where it’s showing.
(Just last week, I found out we had a mould problem on our walls and an infestation of book lice, not to mention the ongoing ant invasion in our kitchen. I messaged him to urge him to come back from work as soon as possible to have a look at the problem. “Hurry or you may find us dead with the sky having fallen on our heads and worms crawling out of our ears,” I told him. Well, something to that effect. Now you know how morbid I can be).
I think I’ve lost the joy of writing. I’m so afraid to pen down thoughts, and to publish them online especially, because I feel I have nothing good to say. Nothing clickable or viral worthy. But why should that matter, I wonder?
I miss the old days when random readers would surf my blog and leave comments on how much they enjoyed my posts (this happened for previous blogs I wrote on, not this one though). That feeling of a geniune, supportive blog community where everyone was just an ordinary netizen sharing about their lives on the Web. A blogosphere untainted by writers seeking to make a million bucks through click bait and advertising.
I really should just think less when I write. It’s the curse of journalism that has made me self-censor so much. I need to shake that off. After all, I am a journo no more.
So I’m going to try to write a little something here every day. If nothing else comes out of it, at least I know I am practising putting my thoughts to the screen and improving my writing in some way or another.
I know I’ve made resolutions like this so often in the past, and that it always comes to mind around the time when I have to renew my domain subscription (which was just this month actually). But maybe for once, I will make good my word. Words.
I need to unleash once more that long lost habit of crafting poems and conjuring short stories.
I’d like creativity to be the hallmark of everything I write.
I want to write shorter blog posts but yet offer worthwhile content that any random reader will appreciate, with ideas and perspectives that will remain in their memory long after they have left the boundaries of this blog.
That is the sort of prose I want to attributed to my name.
So I guess I should stop writing about writing and just write.