"(They Long To Be) Close To You"

Blah, blah, blah. Maybe Burt Bacharach just isn't my favorite, or maybe he was a cultural favorite for long enough that his songs feel very over used. I'm hoping that this is the last of these. I'm hoping that this section holds some treasures, and isn't just a slow glide into sleeping.

I've felt very trapped in my own life today, in the consequences of my choices. The main facet of this today is indeed, my life, again, as 'Mama'.

My husband asked a question about our mutual calendar in June, about a weekend that he was considering taking a long hike with a friend in New Hampshire. I had been idly dreaming about getting away to a movement meditation retreat that week, but I had already decided in my mind that this was wildly impractical. The financial cost would be considerable, and the effort of finding care for my daughter for an entire week would be astronomical. I did it once, when she was about eighteen months old, a Herculean effort, and even though she is considerably more self-reliant now, the practicalities of providing care for her are not much less significant. I cannot take a day off easily, much less five days, or a week.

Today, I feel like I cannot escape for long enough to make much difference in my mental health. A weekend is not long enough. Getting out to my paying job is not enough, when I come home to work that can never be completed. If I take a break for an hour I feel guilty, all the unfinished projects staring me in the face, the bathrooms ridiculously overdue to be cleaned, my daughter's room to be painted, please, someday, sweeping and dusting that hasn't happened in years. . . so very much more besides.

Today was even productive. I could see that I had made progress, but against the whole house it just seems achingly small. I know that it's important that I take time to work on my own projects, that this keeps me anchored in some semblance of sanity. I know that someday I will have a daily life without my daughter in it so actively, and that I will miss her constantly.

I feel like I'm adrift in a storm, with no land in sight, rowing, resting guiltily, rowing again, eating quickly, rowing, rowing, rowing. . .