But first, coffee.

The apartment is still, though beyond our walls, I can hear that other apartments are not still at all. On one hand it feels like a peaceful respite of my loud and busy everyday life as a mom and an art teacher to the elementary set, and on the other, it is a reminder that life as a divorcee is broken into lonely chunks of time that it is my responsibility in which to fill. By necessity I rely on the calendar, and last minute changes to The Routine can leave me aimless. Do I begin with the necessary housework avoided during the school week, the email I need to send on a project, the website that still isn't quite right, fret for the billionth time about money and organize my paperwork, or do something for my health and go to the gym?  I become stuck with too many options, and make coffee instead.

That's a thing, you know: But first, coffee. 

The email was chosen as the winner of my Where to Begin in My Moment of Overwhelming Choices mental circus.  My kids return in less than two hours, so I debate the currently chaotic state of my home while I compose the letter regarding an art exhibition in my community that I'd like to pursue, hoping it lands in the right hands to get this project rolling.  I will post more when the time is right, but I'm excited about the potential, as it's something I've been thinking about for quite some time. Sitting in a workshop for a local artist grant last night (because money) reminded me of such a project, and those old tingles returned.  Good sign.

So, I feel pretty satisfied with myself right now, remembering that I'm not just a mommy and not just a teacher, but an artist with something to say, and maybe despite my inner critic, that voice is worthy of being heard. 

But, then, this artist with a voice also needs to clean her bathroom.

But first, coffee.


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