I'm a creative person. I love designing and making things. Writing. Crafts. Curtains. Miniatures. Jewelry. Well, you get the idea. The point is my house is littered with projects I'm working on - a bulletin board for my kitchen, earrings (that I'm hoping to sell on etsy at some point), 1" scale miniature furniture and decor, a series of sepia tone nature photos that my son and I took for my living room wall, polymer clay flowers, etc. My computer is also cluttered by ideas and random writings. If I'm not creating something, I become a very grumpy girl.
I'm a very grumpy girl.
Before my son was born (yes, I'm going back 17 long years), I had started selling my miniatures on ebay and was beginning to make a living at it. I also made simple crafts that I sold at small craft shows in the area. I wrote poetry and short stories. I was probably the most well-balanced and happy I've ever been. Then came kiddo (I wouldn't change that for anything. My son is my light.) - and Aspergers Syndrome. My arts and crafts were put away. My focus was on raising my son. There was no time for arts, crafts or writing (or reading for that matter) when I was dealing with doctors, therapists, the school district, and all that crap. His needs were so huge, that they sucked the life out of me. I missed my creativity. I missed it - but I didn't have time for it. And I was too damn tired all the time to think about it.
Somebody eventually gave me some very important advice. I was no good to my kiddo if I wasn't taking care of myself. I started making time for me. It wasn't much. An hour in the morning before he got up to have a cup of coffee and a bagel while I geared myself up for my day. An hour or so at the end of the day after kiddo and hubs were both in bed where I could surf the web, read, draw, etc. These times were mine. They helped me find the sanity I needed to get through some of the very worst years of my life - the years of kiddo's nervous breakdown at 10, the meds, the psychologists and psychiatrists, the specialized schools and administrative bullshit my school district put us through. The homeschooling and dealing with kiddo dropping out, getting his GED and starting to find his own self and life.
Through all of that, I had my time. Those little snippets of time where I refreshed myself and reminded myself that 'this too shall pass'.
In the last eight months, that me time has vanished. Kiddo is his own person. For that I'm eternally grateful. But with that came an end to my time. My down time at night is gone. Kiddo stays up until 2 am like a typical college student. The difference being that he talks computer speak non-stop all day. The only way to get away from it is if I go to bed. If I try to read, to write, to craft, he's there hammering his computer facts that I don't even pretend to understand through my head with the persistence of a badger. I can't think. I can't read. I can't write. I can't create. It's there, in my head, but I can't get it out past his voice. It's killing me.
I've tried getting up even earlier in the morning, but then hubs is there wanting to talk about kiddo's issues and how much he hates work and I can't even have a cup of coffee in silence. Its....horrific. By the time hubs heads out the door, kiddo is getting up. And there I am, listening to lua jit, recursive this, blah blah (insert computer related words) that until I feel like the creative part of my brain is suffering a painful, screaming death. I feel like I can't breathe. It's torture.
In the battle of creativity vs. mental exhaustion, mental exhaustion wins. I lose.
*Waves white flag of surrender*
I give up. Just get me to September, when kiddo goes away to college. I just hope I don't go completely irrevocably insane before then.