I’ll have to write about false dichotomies. Which is another way of showing off my neuroses to the world and pretending they are even a little interesting. Sigh, again.
I spend my life thinking I can either be a good person or a bad person. That I can either live a creative life or take care of my family. That I can have a clean house or make stories. I am wrong. (Sometimes I am wrong in the worst possible way: I can neither have a clean house nor make stories!)
There are other options. There are gradations. There are even slippery slopes! Sometimes spending time on a story means that someone will have to wait for clean underwear, but under most circumstances stories do not negatively impact the comfort of the dear people who condescend to live with me. Sometimes the house is not as clean as I would like, but if I am completely honest about it, I’m not necessarily going to take up dusting in the time I might be writing (or reading or watching tv or showering or whatever).
I admit that there are limits. Time is one unfortunate one: it runs out every once in a while and Costco does not seem to carry the jumbo packs. Energy is another. Sleep is a prerequisite for most useful and/or fun tasks.
This is no reason to pretend that there are more limits than there are. Well, except that the pretense allows for more whining about what I can’t do and gives me another way to procrastinate.