Apologies if this sounds bleak, but these days I just feel done. The day to day goes by like a song-and-dance show in Purgatory— numbing, indefinite and with eyes cast up to heaven. That goes for both the kids and me. It's hard to explain to a child what they should think is important. How do you tell an 8-year-old that studying this baffling, buttery language for hours a day is more important than Harry Potter? Their parents sure try, but in a way that deadens the message even more, with rebellious attitudes to family creeping into the cultural consciousness. I sure wish I could go back and convince my 12-year-old self that my free public education in French wasn't lame OR a waste of the valuable time I could have spent playing Final Fantasy.
This is the paradox of childhood I suppose; play or plan? Leaning too hard on either one brings its own unique problems. I feel I'm getting self-helpy so I'll box the rhetoric.
I'm just tired is all.
A dear friend (who works entirely too hard) once told me that her favorite time of day was when she could finally take off her earrings. It was the crowning gesture that everything was officially over for the day.
I didn't get it (being both graduated and unemployed at the time), but now, when I take off the watch with the worn leather strap that my Dad gave me before I left, and toss it down on the pile of ever growing change on my night-table, I totally feel her relief.
For me, it's the time of day when I can finally stop counting the minutes.
Don't worry, friends in blog-land. Some days are better than today.