This weekend, I’m on my own. My Darlin’ is in Ohio carving pumpkins, so I’m by myself. I admit, it was kind of nice to have the entire day to myself. I went for a run. Did four loads of laundry. Finished grading stacks of essays and projects. Brushed the dogs and trimmed their nails. Typed up the minutes from our last church missions meeting. Planned lessons for the week ahead. Washed a lot of dishes. Cooked myself dinner.
I have a sense of accomplishment for the day, but I’m tired. And I don’t want to write this blog post.
But it’s too early to go to bed and too late to start making bread and there’s nothing on TV. Still, right now, I’m just blogging because I made a commitment to myself to write weekly, to create and connect with the Creator. I’m not doing it because the creative juices are flowing or I have ideas I just need to get out. Because they aren’t. And I don’t.
That’s not to say that I’ve had no blogging ideas. As I was falling asleep one night this week, I had a pretty good opening sentence for a post. It had something to do with the passage of time. The thought was fragmented by the time I woke up the next morning, and now that it’s four days later, the idea is but a wisp. I had thoughts of writing about teaching or about busyness, but I was too busy teaching to get the ideas written down.
I considered writing about plans and options and opportunities, but my brain is too crowded with those very things that it’s too confusing to try to write about them. I’m just trying to figure out the best way to spend my time, when it seems that time is an endangered species.
So, I have nothing much to say. And I don’t want to say it anyway.
But I promised to write, so here it is.