I drove back from taking my kids to school this morning with the gas light on. It was already on when I got in the car, so it was practically blinding me on the way home. But I couldn’t bring myself to stop for gas. It would’ve taken too much time, and I had only two-and-a-half hours to myself. Well, two, really, if you consider the time it takes me to get to Eve’s school and back. Two precious hours. (Those of you who read yesterday’s post, do you sense a theme here?) Like I’m gonna spend ten minutes of that time at the freakin’ gas station. (Never mind that I’ll have to get it on the way to pick up Eve from school.)

The mom of a little girl in Eve’s class told me when we saw each other at drop-off this morning that I looked like I was “always in a hurry.” I told her that I was always in a hurry, that I am perpetually late to everything. I loved her for saying that, because it was a reminder to me that my insides sometimes (often?) show on the outside. I forget so easily that if I’m feeling frantic in my head, it radiates outward and I’m walking around in this stupid-ass anxiety bubble, which is filled with question marks, exclamation points, and curse words all bouncing lightning-fast this way and that off of me and the bubble walls. We are quite a sight.

Being in a hurry is not the only reason for my anxiety, of course. But it’s got to be one of the oldest reasons for it. Somehow, in my forty years, I have not been able to grasp the fact that EVERYTHING takes time. Say I have to be somewhere at 3:00 and it takes twenty minutes to get there. My instinct is to tell myself that I need to leave at 2:40. I do not also take into account the time it takes to walk to the car, get in and put my seatbelt on, park the car, and walk from the parking lot to the building. And forget about leaving a few extra minutes in case the traffic is bad. I am increasingly aware of all this and am working on it, but I have to work hard on it, and it really doesn’t seem like it should be that hard. I mean, seriously, the concept I’m trying to grasp is this: time passes. All day long, every day. It takes time to move through the space that I live in, all day long, every day. C’mon, Alison, keep repeating it to yourself, “Time is always passing. Time is always passing. Time is ALWAYS passing.” (If I yell it to myself, will it help?)

So, you see, time is not my friend. I have no desire to travel through time. Forget about going back to the past or ahead to the future. I want to travel away from time. It wouldn’t even help to not have clocks, because we would still sense the passing of time with the rising and setting sun. Even the cave people couldn’t escape time. They must’ve been all, “Me have to stone this bear to death before that light in the sky goes out, or me gonna be food for other bears.” Talk about anxiety bubbles!

I have to stop ranting now. It is time to go get Eve. And I still have to get that damn gas.

Almost every night for the past seven years or so, I have intended to do great things in the couple of hours between when my kids go to sleep and when I go to bed. Some nights the great things I have in mind are pretty great indeed–writing a brilliant blog post or looking for a job. Other nights the great things are really mundane things in disguise–folding laundry and preparing lunches for the next day. Doing the things will make me feel productive and like a good contributor to society, I believe. But almost every night, I have not done either the really-great or the mundane-great things. I have instead watched plenty of TV, read plenty of status updates, played plenty of word games on my iPhone. I have yet to see how any of these things contributes positively to society, though I would love it if someone could point that out for me.

I am trying to stop feeling guilty about not doing the great things. But I don’t have any energy left to fight the guilt. I don’t have any energy left to do any of the great things. Pretty much every night, I have enough only to park myself on the couch and stare at a screen. All of the wonderful ideas I wanted to write about during the day are gone–driven out by children jabbering, whining, fighting, demanding.

Tonight I am taking a step forward by not trying to do great things. I am just trying to do a thing. This thing I’m doing now, pressing on keys with my fingers. And whaddya know? There are words on this laptop screen! And I might even be sort-of thinking. Good enough for tonight. No clever endings here, just a bye-bye and see you later. Yep.

This will be a quickie, because I have to leave in fifteen minutes to pick up Eve from preschool. But I’m working on not being such a perfectionist, so I want to just get this out as well as I can in that short time and be done with it. I want to post something imperfect! Okay, well, imperfection isn’t actually my goal, but you know what I mean. But on with it already, the clock doesn’t stop for my digressions.

So, I think I’m learning how to be happy. Or, more accurately, to accept the happiness that’s already in front of me, that’s always there for the having. That’s great, right? Woohoo, I’m getting happy, let’s dance! The thing is, though, it feels scary to let myself be happy. And I keep being surprised by that. I mean, really, why should it be frightening to be happy? Well, because I might lose it. If I never let myself be happy to begin with, I never have anything to lose, but if I let myself be happy and then I lose it, that might be worse then never having had it at all. That sounds ridiculous, because who wants to be that way? I don’t, but my brain sometimes tries to protect me without my consent. My mind is finally yelling loud enough for my brain to pay attention, I guess.

I’m walking around, then, as if I’m carrying an egg on a spoon. My happiness seems so fragile, so delicate, that I feel like the tiniest misstep might break it into a thousand little pieces. But the egg is painted so beautifully, it takes my breath away, and I don’t want to stop carrying it. I have a feeling I’ll learn gradually that the egg is stronger than I think. For now, though, I’m grateful to have it at all.

So named just because I have a feeling there will be more . . . Yes, it’s a (sort-of) stream-of-consciousness post, because I need to post something for my own sake. I have to get over the hump that is my fear of what I will or won’t write. I say “sort-of” stream-of-consciousness because I won’t necessarily say the FIRST thing that comes to mind, for everyone’s sake, but I’ll try to get close. Now I’m all up in arms (??) because I’ve used “because” in every sentence so far. So be it, though; I’m not going back and editing this sucker.

I had a good day–some sleeping in, a lot of necessary housework, and an unexpected chat with another mom from my kids’ elementary school. I took Iris and Oliver ice skating, and as I sat in the stands watching them glide along, this mom sat down next to me. Her family was skating too, so we had some time to talk. It was so nice to get to know her better. I feel like, with the start of the school year, my world here has greatly expanded. I have met many new people. Eve has started preschool, so I have gotten to meet several other parents who are just starting out on their child’s journey into the realm of formal education. I like getting in at the beginning with other parents, although I guess most or all of Eve’s preschool classmates will go on to different elementary schools. But I hope both she and I can make some lasting friendships with some of these folks anyway.

Okay, I got some words out. YESSSSSSS! Hump conquered tonight. Peace to all.

Full disclosure: I did edit a tiny bit. But not much.