(no subject)
Sometimes it strikes me what odd juxtapositions exist within me. Eager to help, I don't like asking for help. Unless it has to do with writing in any form, in which case I feel like I beg and plead. I can also be eager to do, to volunteer, to serve, but in so many other ways I'm lazy. It seems I am principled but undisciplined, thoughtful but lacking in will.
Last night I was thinking about what I love in fiction and all the reasons I mourn my seeming inability to read non-fiction--despite writing non-fiction myself. Maybe another stage will help me grow past this. But now is not the stage to take more on.
I've held this a bit close, though I don't keep secrets, but I had to go to the hospital last week for fears about prelabor. The babies and I are fine, but I have got to do better about resting and staying hydrated. I'm not sure why it can seem so hard.
I have been thinking about how rest is not something we do, but something we receive. And today I'm receiving respite with a morning babysitter and an afternoon when I can greet my parents and welcome their help.
I am torn about what to do today. Mostly I hope not to get upset.
Last night I was thinking about what I love in fiction and all the reasons I mourn my seeming inability to read non-fiction--despite writing non-fiction myself. Maybe another stage will help me grow past this. But now is not the stage to take more on.
I've held this a bit close, though I don't keep secrets, but I had to go to the hospital last week for fears about prelabor. The babies and I are fine, but I have got to do better about resting and staying hydrated. I'm not sure why it can seem so hard.
I have been thinking about how rest is not something we do, but something we receive. And today I'm receiving respite with a morning babysitter and an afternoon when I can greet my parents and welcome their help.
I am torn about what to do today. Mostly I hope not to get upset.