I remember a point in my life when I believed that everything was a sign.
Yes, I believed I shared my soda straw with the universe and saw daily events, large or small, as my personal GPS for life, things like a surprise after-school faculty meeting turned into see? I knew it was a bad day to to go the Y.
Maybe it’s because I’ve suffered from sleep deprivation for going on two-and-a-half years now, but I’ve shelved the notion of signs right there with my old college analysis papers and cards from every birthday: there, in sight, relatively untouched.
In addition to staying home to raise my two
so-adorable-you-wish-your-kids-were-as-cute-as-mine boys, I work as a professional freelance writer and editor. It’s the perfect job for me right now, since I work from our parlor (yes, we have a parlor) and I basically work around my babies’ and my husband’s schedules, which may not be the most convenient or consistent way of doing things, but it works. Generally, that is.
There’s always one hell week each month where, either by chance or love for personal punishment, multiple deadlines for multiple projects of serious multitude (was that too much?) fall on the same week or sometimes even the same day.
That’s this week.
The beast of them is the project that reminds me of my love-hate relationship with teaching English, and why I’m happy that I’m not renewing my teaching license. And yes, I’m still not finished with it, in spite of hours upon hours of sitting in said parlor, Tervis cup upon Tervis cup of KoolAid (my little one absolutely adores mixing KoolAid), and in spite of the contact lenses that want to peel themselves from my eyeballs and in spite of the sore tailbone that wishes for extraction (injured in both pregnancies and broken during a delivery).
So why I am awake at midnight writing blog posts instwrestles wrestling with said beast of a project? Because I slurped a new sign out of that shared soda straw tonight, my friends–a Force Quit.
That’s right, old Mac and I here were continuing our efforts when everything turned Ice Age and froze. No amount of digital defrosting worked, so Force Quit it was.
This has occurred far too frequently as of late and while I’m taking it as a sign to find a new computer, I’m also seeing the bigger aspect of this sign.
Force Quit happens when you ovedo it and muddy the system to a point where your program seizes, unyielding in its resolve to stand still and go no further.
It’s much too easy to just gogogogogo, especially as a stay-at-home-work-from home mom–like Inspector Gadget. From wakeups to laundry to making sure everyone’s been fed and what are we going to eat next and when do I need to go grocery shopping next and deadlines piano lessons bills thank you notes I was supposed to send a year ago—when do I stop?
When do you stop?
Well-meaning friends give the “you’ve got to make time for you” speech, and then your Word program goes on strike.
I imagine that as I click on my hypothetical Force Quit in the days to come that the universe will carry on, continuing to drink from that soda straw, even sharing a sip as its shares more signs.