Up next in the thrilling adventures of the Random Post Generator (Henceforth known as the RPG*), we find ourselves in the puling infancy of kjottinger.com. This time-trip takes us back to October 9, 2014, two weeks into the illustrious blogging career of M’self.
Post Numero 5.
Of. All. Time.
You can visit young KJ here, please do: Moderation, even in writing (gasp)
It’s been a long time since I penned those words, but they are as true now as they were then.
In the fall of 2014, I still had seven kids at home. They were, if memory and simple math serve, 10, 11, 12, 14, 15, 16, and 17 at the time. Time was tight. Money was tight. We were eight years into this fantastic familial experiment, and coming to terms with the harsh reality that they really do grow up, despite our admonitions not to.
In the winter of 2020, I have somewhere between one and three kids left at home. One graduated two days ago, and is preparing to launch, so she’s a solid half-kid. One leaves in less than three weeks for Conserve School. For Four Months. She’s 15. And she’s leaving me. She’s almost half-a-kid at this point as well. And the lone boy of the bunch gets full points, swaggering through his 16th year, with no threats to disappear in the night. Yet.
Time is still tight, but in all new and different ways.
Money is still tight, in all the same old ways, and a handful of new, exotic, and frankly even-more-unpleasant ways.
We are now thirteen-and-a-half years in, and still a bit ruffled at the idea of the kids growing up.
But grow up they do. And then they bring even MORE babies to worry about convincing to never grow up.
A lot has changed in the intervening half decade. But what hasn’t changed is my priorities, and where writing falls on that list. Those few remaining kids are still here. Their time is limited. M’nest is almost empty, and I can certainly have enough patience for those chicks to fly before I throw All The Energy into actually completing one’a them books.
It was a good reminder, this Way Back Wednesday. I’ve been getting a little itchy, and a little lax. I do have big ‘ol chunks of time when I could conceivably write (they come every third Friday, for three hours, barring a full moon). They don’t need me like they used to. They’re content to ignore my existence for entire days. They don’t even ask for help with their school work much anymore.
But inevitably, when I get wrapped up in a few spare moments to write, those innocent winks can start to impinge on moments that aren’t actually spare. And I can start to miss out on the few remaining moments that I have left with these kids as these kids.
So I write. Obviously I do. I get in some blog posts. I write some for m’self. And I even dabble in the realm of Scrivener occasionally, pretending to get something done on a few idling projects. But that hard-core foot-to-the-floor that I’d like to give those books-in-waiting? It’s not time yet.
Sorry, guys, for the itchy moments. I still love you far more than any book, completed or not.
If you need me, I’ll be available. Except for that Third Friday.
* No, not Rocket Propelled Grenade. Don’t be dumb.
Not Role Playing Game. Although…
Random Post Generator.
I do what I want.