I did the math tonight and figured out that in any given week I work 50-60 hour a week. Yes, that number is right. And that is not including the time I spend being a mother, cleaning my house, doing laundry, playing with my children or blogging. There is something SEVERELY wrong with this picture. But what do you do when every dollar is needed to make ends meet? We don’t live extravagant lives so why should I have to work so many hours to make it work? Something’s gotta give. And something did give. For whatever reason, for the first time in my life, I fainted this past weekend. There could be a perfectly good explanation for it but it definitely causes me to step back and say, Whoa! is there more going on here?
This autumn, I think I might focus on gaining a little perspective. I mean really sitting down and asking myself what is important? And does my life reflect that? I wish I could say once I figure that out everything will be peachy keen but the truth is, it probably won’t. But I think it is a good place to start. When Ben and I returned from Cambridge just over a year ago, we had no plan. We still have no plan. We don’t know what’s next and our five-year plan is more of a collage with hastily cut out magazine images modge-podged together on poster board than a step-by-step strategy to making the most of this one beautiful life. Not that I am saying that is what it needs to be but rather, the goal is to find a comfortable place, somewhere in the middle. Tell me, for those of you who are caught in the poverty/lower class trap, how do you make it work while keeping your sanity?
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