Moving home after a protracted absence is always a little strange. When away from home I filled my days with people I didn’t live with, trying to do new things every day, because my only obligation was to myself, I had no one to report to at the end of the day, no reason to be home early. Now that I’m back home I feel suffocated. It seems that I have an infinite number of things to fit into a very finite amount of time. Dance, school, work, family, friends, I feel the need to jam them all into the day. For a while it made me feel like I couldn’t do any of it. I didn’t want to let anything slip, but it occurs to me that the reason I feel so cornered is because how I see my time. 7 days in a week: Tuesdays and Wednesdays teaching dance, Friday rehearsals, Saturday teaching, Sundays with my niece. It’s a clock, it’s closed and there’s very little chance for change. Maybe I should stop seeing weeks as units I use to measure the months and just see the days ahead of me as days. OR maybe I should just break all the patterns.
