My mother said recently that loving me takes a lot of patience. Not for her, presumably, but for those who take on the burden voluntarily. It's true: I am self-centered and selfish. I carry hurts around for far too long. I'm a crier. I get obsessed with a thing to the detriment of all else.
This week has been hard on me and those around me. I haven't gotten enough sleep all week. Every day has felt like a frantic dash. I am trying to fit writing (and the few things that keep me sane) in to days that are already very long, and there just doesn't seem to be a graceful way to do it.
How do you do it?
The Saturday bus schedule means that I get to work an hour early, so I got my 30 minutes of writing in before the day had a chance to crush me. I wrote a bit more on a topic that came up in that memoir workshop from a couple of weeks ago. I am looking forward to sleeping a little bit later tomorrow.