Wednesday, June 01, 2011

Stop the World...

.....I Want to Get Off!

Okay, not really, but I'm sure that anyone who is reading this (IS anyone reading this?) knows what I mean when I say I just want to press that big pause button on the remote control of life ("That's poetic - that's pathetic."  Anyone know the musical I'm quoting here?  Anyone?  Anyone?!!  Bueller?).  Not really stop everything, just slow it down for a little bit.  Or maybe pause it completely, let me catch up, and then I can press play again.  Is that really too much to ask?  I know FLYlady always says that I'm not behind, that I should just jump in where I am, but I feel like I'm always playing catch up with my life.  And just when I feel like I'm kind of on top of something, something else pops up that I have to deal with immediately, causing everything else to get put off, yet again.

I think it really comes down to the fact that I feel like I am a juggler, minus the clown make up and funny clothes.  Granted, I must be pretty good since I have so many balls that I'm able to keep up in the air, but I never really intended to be a circus performer.  Each of my kids is a ball unto themselves that I must keep juggling around and around to ensure they each get my attention.  So is my husband.  And then there's work, both my current job and the sucky job search for next year, two different balls.  The bills.  The house.  The mountain of paperwork.  The food.  My weight.  I work really hard  to keep each ball going round and round without dropping anything.  Sometimes one of the little balls becomes a bowling ball for a while, needed so much extra strength from me to continue moving through the air, but usually I can handle that.  The problem comes when I have days like today where not only do I find myself suddenly on a unicycle, which I don't know how to ride, someone added in a flaming torch or two to all the balls I'm already juggling.  I would love to be able to just stop, get off the bike, put down all the balls, and find something to extinguish the fire in the torches, but apparently it's against the rules. 

So I'll do what I usually do, the only thing I can figure out what to do:  I'll fake it.

I will drop as many balls as I can manage.  The mountain of paperwork may get bigger.  The bills might go unpaid.  And my weight?  Forget about it!  I'll transfer the rest to one hand for as long as possible while dealing with the flaming torches in the other hand.  And I'll try to keep the pedals on the unicycle moving, for even if I want to just crawl into bed, under the covers, and hide, the moment I stop, even if it's just to take a breath, that's when everything will come crashing down all around me.
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