I have creativity coming out of my pores. Each and every day I think of something, SOMETHING that I can do to unleash this. Every day I think of 100 reasons why I can't, why I won't. I think much of this comes from the daily stresses of raising my brood. I think much of it comes from the fact that because of said brood, I have no real space to call my own. No warm corner to tuck myself into to just have a quiet moment to think, to imagine, to create. I have materials, supplies, means to an end, ideas, thoughts, pinings. I cannot seem to bring these thoughts to life. They pour out into the world, hostless, and wither and die unused. There is nothing simple anymore. There is nothing easy. In order to carve out a bit of time for myself, it seems someone else has to suffer for it. Someone else pays for my time. Sometimes dearly, mostly not. I need time, more time, some time, my time. The meager allotment of 24 hours is not enough for me, not enough for my rampant thoughts, not enough to sleep, eat, teach, learn, parent, clean, straighten, cook, tend to, drive, pick up, put down, and leave me any time for REAL quality time for myself. I need to be able to tuck my guilt somewhere dusty, somewhere that it won't resurface for many hours so that I can finally come back to being the person I've been for nearly 30 years. I need to find a way to become me again. I'm fighting this thing we call time. I'm fighting this thing we call time, and I feel as though I'm holding back the ocean. As though I'm fighting against an eternal army. I need to find myself, wherever I lost myself, and once again have time for me. Me.