word of the day: busy \ˈbi-zē\ full of activity or work
I recently informed Jake that I wanted to start writing again—at least once a week. His response?
Why don’t you set a more attainable goal?
A reasonable question, really. I thought life was busy before Lily came along, and now I often feel like the work will never get done. There are currently 160 short stories sitting in folders waiting to be graded, and yet here I sit. Typing with no real direction to my thoughts.
People often ask me how we’re doing. And I often respond with, “Good.” Then, the first vague question is often followed up by a second vague question: “How are things going?” To wish I generally respond, “Busy.”
Our life is full of activity and (not or) work. As I read the definition to that word, though, I realized that it’s also full of a myriad of other things. People. Baby laughter. Trips to Chipotle (right down the road from our new place. I’m developing guacamole dependency).
And if there’s something I’ve gotten much better at in the last three months, it’s making room in my life for the more important things—the spur of the moment Target run we took this evening, for instance (because I think Target fulfills my need for Vitamin D).
The short stories sit. The laundry basket hums. The dust collected under the furniture whispers.
And here I sit, happier that I took some time to write. Everything always gets done. That’s what Jake tells me anyway. He also tells me, though, that if we were ever to rob a bank together, I would not be allowed to come along which seems counterintuitive.
I’m too busy to rob a bank anway.
And, on a totally unrelated note (when did THIS happen?)…