I was late to work today.
I had it wrong in my calendars (both of them), and it was an unusual start time, and actually starting at that time would have put me into overtime, but regardless, I was late today.
It was one of those things, where although it was completely my fault, it revealed to me a way I was feeling that I may have been hiding from myself a little bit.
I don’t want to be at the mercy of someone else’s scheduling, I immediately thought.
Followed by: I am ready to make my own goddamned schedule.
Now, half of the emotion fueling that was definitely defensiveness and being pissed at myself that I had messed up. But it also was the truth, and I felt it in my bones as such.
I am ready to be free from someone else dictating my schedule. Free from telling my friends or husband, “I’m not sure, let me see if I can get that day off.” From knowing that Saturday nights are always off limits, even if something fun is happening, because ain’t no one gonna wanna cover that shift.
I don’t know if I would have realized this if not for this writing project.
The main thing I feel as I near the end of the hundred days is that I want more time to write. I do not want to be writing while nursing my daughter while putting her to bed, the glow of the phone lighting up my face, sighing at incorrect autocorrect, dealing with her squiggly body as she moves all around.
I want to be at a desk. In a room with a door that closes.
I want to be able to listen to music. To make a writing playlist. To put headphones in.
I want to write in the morning and then have a workout and play with my daughter and spend time with my husband and read some and write again in the evening.
I want, I want, I want…
Do we ever stop wanting?
I watch V lately, and she is a wanting machine. It starts the second she wakes up and it truly never stops.
Want a snack, want to watch Elmo, want to go to the library, want to go to my room, want to go outside, want to scratch your back, want a bottle, want strawberries, want to wear the Moana shirt, want to watch Daniel Tiger, want to read it again.
It never stops.
Anyway, maybe I’m just getting old enough that I don’t want someone else telling me when to be somewhere. (Even if it James telling me, and James is wonderful.)
And old enough that I don’t want to write blogs on my phone, in fact at this moment I want to throw my phone for how off it is and how much it has let me down during this time that I’ve been writing this.
And old enough that I want a natural wake and sleep time. I want to wake up with my daughter with the sun streaming through the windows and feel rested, and like we can start our morning slowly.
And old enough that I can live the life I always dreamed of living.
I want, I want, I want…
…maybe I’m not “old enough” at all. Maybe I’m no different from the two year-old!