Blowing In Like a Lion

I’m just going to get this crap out and then I’ll be done with it.

I confess that when I’m in work mode, whether I’m writing or composing, any little distraction, regardless of how good the person’s intentions are, can make me snap like a schnauzer with a sore snout. It’s probably because my life has never belonged to me and that whatever creative time I could carve out for myself had to be literally crowbarred out of someone else’s white-knuckled grip. Their needs and their wants were always more important than my own.

Because I’ve always gotten so little creative time to truly call my own, I’m very jealous of it when inspiration comes knocking, which isn’t very often anymore and which makes me even harder to get along with. I’m just beginning to come out of a 10-year dry spell and I’m terrified that everyday life is going to extinguish the few sparks that I’m trying so desperately to fan into flames. Virginia Woolf was right. Every writer needs A Room Of One’s Own. I’m tempted to move my desk into the guest room.

I miss uninterrupted work time. I miss having free access to my own bathroom instead of the public restroom that’s in what has essentially become the upstairs family room/master bedroom. I miss having an unengaged phone line. I miss not having to repeat “I’ve got it” to the three other voices on the phone when I do get the occasional call. I miss closed toilet lids, toothpaste schmutz-free countertops and mirrors, flushed toilets, drawer pulls without jam on them, fingerprint-free doors and door sills, and the peace that comes when people know how to close a door or cabinet quietly.

I miss romantic interludes that are not first penciled-in with the kids. Oh yeah, that’s a big one. Nothing can kill the libido faster than having to clear your love life with your kids in order to ensure a little privacy. Kind of slays the spontaneity, doesn’t it? Who really wants to plan sex, anyway? The ultimate birth control? Have kids!

I miss time alone with Nettl, time to talk, to laugh, to cuddle, to dream, to make out, without the whole family knowing about it. We used to take naps and lay around like a couple of house cats. I really miss those languid afternoons of sprawling all over and grooming each other.

In a word or two, I miss PERSONAL SPACE and PRIVACY, be it physical, emotional, or mental. Since Christmas there have been only three weeks in which the kids have spent the full five days in school. Someone is always sick, or there’s a holiday of some kind that keeps them home… and spending all day on Nettl’s computer that’s just outside our bedroom door. My computer, where I work, is just inside the bedroom door. I finally had to make a rule: “If you’re too sick to sit at a desk and work at school, then you’re too sick to sit at a desk and play at home.” That one hasn’t made me very popular around here.

All this is why I stay up all night. It’s the only real alone time I get without interruption, time alone with my thoughts, time during which a writer’s ideas are able to seep through and maybe find themselves on paper.

I’d like to be able to sit down and work knowing that I’m not going to be interrupted. I’d like to close my door (actually, I’d rather not have to close it) and know it’s not going to be knocked on, or that someone’s not going to just barge in without warning. And don’t tell me to get a lock, because we have only one shower in this house--in the master bath--and six people who have to use it.

But I have to ask myself if, at our other house the kids weren’t allowed to come upstairs and stay, why are they allowed to here? The girls have the entire downstairs of a nearly 3,000 square-foot house. Why do they need to spend every evening, and all weekend, upstairs? Nettl’s computer, that’s why. When it was in our bedroom they weren’t on it this much. I understand there’s homework to do and that they do need to have access for a little fun and communication with their friends--I’m not a selfish monster--but I think we need to find a reasonable compromise otherwise this mild frustration I feel is going to grow into full-blown resentment. And I don’t want that to happen. There was a life before chat rooms, instant messaging and RPG forums. There was reading, going outside, drawing, and watching movies.

Maybe I’m not as good at this large family thing as I want to be. I was never good at the communal lifestyle of the 60s and I’ve lived in communes that were smaller than our family. I’m really hard on myself. I try to be good and patient and usually things are really, really wonderful, but lately it seems to be getting suffocating. Most kids of a divorce get to spend every other weekend with the other parent, but their dad lives in Ohio. I know what that’s like because when my youngest son was little he lived in Kansas while I lived in California. Too, I understand it’s harder on the kids than it is on their mother and me and I’m sure they could use a break from us--well, me--once in a while.

It has only been a year. Maybe I simply need more time. If money wasn’t as tight as it is I’d simply buy a laptop and get away to write for a few days, even if it could only be at the Best Western here in town. Actually, if I had the money, I just buy a computer for their room and they could duke each other out over it.

Nettl and I could go out to dinner once in a while. I hardly remember what it’s like to get dressed and take the woman I love out of town for the evening. I’ve forgotten how fun spontaneity is and the beauty of coming home after a romantic dinner to slip into a steamy night in bed. The few times we’ve gone out this year, we’ve come home to reports of squabbles, yelling, and general mayhem. Kinda spoils the afterglow.

I will not give in to the urge to quell these feelings of guilt I’m experiencing over having said all this. Most of you have been reading my blog long enough to know how much I love my Insta-Family and how grateful I am that we all have each other, and I write almost exclusively about that. But damn it, sometimes one just needs to beef.  Don’t all parents deserve the right to kick and scream and say, “What about my needs?” once in a while?

Okay, so here it is March and I’ve blown in like a lion. I’ll now back out like a lamb and get back to work. I’m currently reading (and of course proofreading) my book so that it will be fresh in my mind when the interviews begin. It’s important.