All of my blogs used to be funny because I
love to laugh at myself and make others laugh in the process. However, tonight
I was going to write about the deplorable treatment of my mom in her
nursing home, and I stopped. It is far from funny. It would depress me, and you
would not want to read it. Besides, I would not have enough time to write about
it anyway.
Then I decided to write about my son, there
always used to be some funny scenario to share about growing tweens. However as
I wracked my brains, I realized that there is nothing funny because he has
reached the start of brooding teenaged funks! He mopes past me and grunts
barely audible answers to any question I pose.
Lastly, there’s my husband, I am sure that there
is a story there however, I am so busy teaching, taking care of mom, going to
class, and grading papers or creating lessons that I scarce see him enough to
experience anything funny. (Though I will say that my newly retired husband had
the audacity to nudge me in an electronic game of scrabble because I had not
made time to make my move.)
Which brings me to my final thought on this
situation which is quickly becoming the norm and beginning to overtake my
weekly submissions.
Last week, I couldn’t find the time to write at
all, and the week before that I wrote a poem about… well, not having anything
to write about. The week before that it was a short paragraph about not
having time to write… and the week before that I squeezed in a very
short paragraph after school and before the parents arrived on Back to School
Night.
And now here I sit basically filling this blank
space with more banter on not being able to write due to time constraints as I
watch the big hand near the 12 on the clock and my grad professor turning on
her presentation.
Sadly, as I perch here straddling this window sill called SOL Tuesdays, looking out at all the other wonderful writers running past my house, I feel like Esperanza’s grandmother in House on Mango Street, who “looked out the window her whole life, the way so many women sit their sadness on an elbow.” Life has a tight grip on my leg pulling me back, so it can board up the opening through which I have been trying my best to escape these past few weeks since finding you
