It’s not that I don’t like my job, I do, most days at least. But of late, I’ve begun to wonder if it’s coming between me and my life. I want to do those things they talk about in pretty pictures with quotes — about how we need to stop and exhale, and see the flowers, and feel the wind and get wet in the rain… But there’s no time. No time to stop and breathe in. To say, today is a beautiful day. To think how the grass looks greener today because it’s rained, to watch the sky turn orange and red, and grey at sunset.
Forget all that. There’s no time for a bloody pedicure in a week of 7 days, month of 31. No, not one day in a quarter of a year for a pedicure. There’s no time to get a massage in a fortnight full of backaches. Or ever before that. I see those white strands of hair every time I comb my hair — they’re right in the front, near where I part my hair. There’s no time to even think if I want visible grey in my hair right now or not.
I wonder if this work is coming between me and my life. I have no time to do the things I want to do — to read, to write, and sleep, and do it all on one day. I want to cook, for my baby. I want to watch movies too. I just want to watch TV. I want to put my legs up and maybe just watch a movie on the TV. Why can’t I just do that?
I have a zillion plans in my head, all of them need time, that I do not have. I live each day like I’m on a short fuse. Actually, my days are on short fuse, they just blink out before I can fit everything I want into them. I’m meeting deadlines every single minute of the day. And nothing gets done which doesn’t need to be done before the deadline. What kind of a living is this?
Of all the things I want to do, I want to do nothing the most. You know, nothing at all. I want to empty my head out, and make space in it for some things new.
There has to be time for something new.