Still fighting the over-arching sense of depression that has plagued me for a couple months now. Still worried about a number of things. Today I managed to clean all three of our bathrooms, for the first time in at least a month...it took two dismal hours. We have about 2100 square feet and it seems like most of that is bathroom space. Also spent a lot of time with the boy (it's Sunday), reading, doing a writing exercise, taking him to the library, getting started with multiplication tables (just for fun...he was really excited about that). Yet, felt guilty because we didn't get to go boating; by the time I called our local (very small) lake, they were almost ready to shut down for the day. I told him, for sure we'd go next weekend. I hope to be there next Saturday (or even Friday afternoon?) right when they open.
The depression has to do with the very big feeling of being LATE for every single aspect of my life: the writing, getting my son signed up for after-school classes, getting ready for a triathlon, getting back into French and Japanese, reading the classics, fixing up the house so that I'm never ashamed to have guests over, studying cooking recipes, the video work.
But this is so silly, and I know it. Why am I guilt-tripping about all this? I'm barely keeping up with housework and my son's daily needs and my school volunteering and some sort of exercise regimen...and the work on those damn stories. BUT, I'm doing it.
It just really doesn't feel like enough.
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