I am freaking busy.
Like ridiculous busy. More to do than I could ever do ever in a million trillion years, busy.
This feeling, this sense of busy, used to put me over the edge. It used to make me crazy, I used to feel stressed out and overwhelmed. Not that I am not overwhelmed, I am.
I am in a play, working full time, raising three kids, taking care of three dogs, in a new relationship that takes time and energy, and I have a volunteer gig that i spend about 5-10 hours a week on.
And I sleep maybe 5 hours a night right now. It’s not enough. I am really tired. Mega tired. Fall asleep at my desk kinda tired. Yeah, tired. I just fell asleep for a few seconds typing that. Wake Up!
I don’t make enough money to live. So I am supplementing my life with savings. Which won’t last forever. That’s a problem.
And you know what? I have never been so happy.
Let me repeat.
I have never been so happy.
Why am I so happy?
Because I want to be.
I want to be happy.
It’s that simple.
I don’t know if it’s my age.
Or something has shifted in my brain post having my life completely destroyed and being forced to pick up the pieces of my shattered life off the ground and put it back together again. That was hard. I don’t want to do that again.
Maybe it’s the therapy.
Maybe it’s that I am in love.
I’m in love. Love. Love. Love.
Woohoo. Love is good. It makes the world go around. I love. I am loved. It’s amazing. (Yeah, I am annoying. SO WHAT!)
My life is messy, my house is messy, my car is messy…even my purse is messy. My bills aren’t paid, my projects aren’t getting done, I don’t have my lines memorized, and I need sleep. One of my kids is a mess, he’s an emotional wreck, my X and I keep arguing over it. I miss my mom. All these things are my truth.
And I just don’t care very much. I mean I care. It’s just not affecting my ability to feel joyous and blessed.
If it was this easy to be happy all along, why the hell did I wait 43 years to just let go and be content with my messy life?
This is my life. This moment. Right now. When I should spend this 30 minutes of free time working on memorizing my lines but instead I am sitting here writing a blog about how happy I am.
That’s weird. I am weird.
Excuse me, while my weird ass self dances around the living room to a dumb song, pretending not to notice the laundry piling up or the dogs watching me wondering if I might feed them today. Or the fact that I need to leave for rehearsal 5 minutes ago.
Come dance with me.