an essay I've been meaning to read for days. I have so much work to do, other work than reading and staring at the water, but Lily is asleep upstairs in the house and the lure of lapping water and peeking sun is too much. I have so much to write, so much to do -- when will I ever find the time?
What I didn't realize about living with my in-laws is that it would be so social. We eat together, converse into the evenings, share stories and laughs, and at the end of it all, I feel grateful but drained. I need quiet time, to reflect and recharge. Otherwise I end up biting everyone's heads off.
Almost none of the neighbors are out today, despite the holiday weekend. I'm glad. I can sit quietly and read. I can climb down on the rocks to inspect some seaweed floating by and touch the crisp water as it unrolls toward me. Everyone is inside and, most importantly, it's naptime, so Lily is asleep and I have a chance to relax.
I would like an entire day to stare out at the water, read, and write. Preferably without anyone talking to me. I mention this to my mother-in-law, and she tells me to wait thirty years. I don't have thirty years. I have a story to tell now. But what can I do? I work, I rest, and I trust that it will all come together eventually.