I’m not good at juggling.
I get the mechanics of it. I can watch a juggler do their thing and I can see what they’re doing and how to do it. However, I’m lousy at it. I know that practice would help me get better, but I’m still lacking that certain something that would make me great at it and I know it.
Am I talking about literal juggling? Or am I talking about life?
Both, actually. No matter which one we’re talking about, my skills are severely lacking.
I’ve got a lot going on in my life right now, and I say that knowing full well that there are people who would trip over themselves to inform me that I don’t actually have a lot going on because they have more going on or know someone who has more going on, and also there’s a lot going on in the world, so maybe I shouldn’t be so self-centered right now. All of this accurate. But it’s my blog, and I’ll whine if I want to.
My dad, who has lung cancer among other health issues, is doing chemo again (a different kind of chemo from last year) which requires him to go for a four hour infusion three days in a row every three weeks. If they don’t let him take his hemoglobin shot at home, it’s four days in a row, that last trip lasting less than a half an hour. Then he has a follow-up appointment with his PA the next week. These are all 50+ mile round trips, usually earlier in the morning than either one of us want to be up and on the road.
Since I don’t have a grown-up job and only work part-time, I’m not missing much work by sitting in the waiting room for four hours those three days a week. I work from chemo, as it were, putting in four hours before I go in for my shift an hour late. It makes for a very long day. If your math is any good, you’ll realize that I’m actually working more on chemo days than on regular days (usually). Those extra hours go in as comp time. I have a lot of comp time.
I’m sure you’re wondering how I could possibly have that much work to do outside of the library. I mean, don’t I just shelve? Help patrons? Read all day? *insert other misconceptions about library work here*
Well, I run two local history true crime programs, one for adults and one for teens. They alternate months, but it still amounts to needing six cases for the adults and six cases for the teens. These require a lot of research as well as my own need for notes. Pages of notes. I’m in perimenopause. I can’t be trusted to remember words.
I’m also in charge of the library’s podcast. Now, I can’t record or edit in the chemo waiting room, but those episodes need scripts written and research done. That can be done at chemo.
Speaking of podcasts, in addition to the library’s podcast, I also have one and half podcasts of my own. I do Here, Watch This with my friend Shann, who does all of the heavy lifting when it comes to editing and producing. I just have to record and edit my part. And also watch the episode picked for me and write up my script for it. So, yes, it does take a little bit of work, but not nearly as much as it could.
I also have my podcast, Book ’em, Danno, which I do all of the heavy lifting on. I’ve finished the seventh season and I’m working on some prep work for the eighth.. I’ve got things pretty well down to a science, but it still takes time and work. And I’m doing this podcast work and that podcast work around the library podcast and the library work and the chemo schedule.
And the domestic schedule! I’m the only reasonably healthy adult in the establishment, so I’m in charge of all the cooking (which I was already doing most of anyway) and cleaning and yard work and most of the maintenance and also the caretaking. My dad can do many of the important and unimportant things on his own, but he still needs lookin’ after. I don’t think people understand how much problem solving is required with long-term illnesses. From figuring out pain management to keeping them comfortable to making adjustments to help them function better. It’s a lot.
So many balls in the air. I’m bound to falter from time to time. Damn certain to drop a few balls now and then. Unfortunately, it sometimes feels like the ones I drop roll under the fridge.
My arms are tired. I’m exhausted.
My only option is to put down some of these balls. Put them aside and pick them up in the pattern again later. Or give them to someone else entirely. That’s what I’ve decided to do.
I’ve hired out the lawn mowing. Well, the front yard. I’m rewilding the backyard for my local critters and pollinators, which will require much less work, but still give me the outside break that I need. Digging in the dirt and talking to some flowers is a mood booster. The rest of the yardwork I can handle on an as needed basis.
Here, Watch This has gone on indefinite hiatus (in part because Shann is juggling a lot right now, too). I’m looking at extending my usual hiatus between Book ’em, Danno seasons, giving myself a little more of a break and a little more time to get ready before kicking off Season 8.
You might have noticed that I didn’t blog at all in March. I don’t want to completely put the blog on hiatus, but I think posts will be happening randomly instead of on a weekly schedule. If I have the time and energy, you will know.
There’s not much I can do about the caregiving, the library work, and the housework, but without those other balls, the juggling will get a lot easier.
Maybe even easy enough that when it’s time to add those other balls back in, I’ll be a juggling pro.
And so comes the end of National Poetry Month. Last terrible poem! Of the month, anyway. But let’s not dwell on that. The important part is that you made it.
I do not look like my parents. I don’t look like my sister. And my sister doesn’t look like either of our parents. Growing up, I heard, “you don’t look like your mom” and “you don’t look like your dad” a lot. I once had someone tell me that one of my friends looked more like my sister than my actual sister does. Our family portraits look like Olan MIlls grabbed four randos off the street to create a sample family portrait to lure legitimate families in for a sit.
Almost 30 years ago at my first legit paycheck job, I entertained my coworker’s toddler daughter by telling her a story. I told her to pick five words and I’d make a story out of them. And I did. I told her a wild fairy tale using all of her words, which kept her preoccupied while her mom was able to finish what she needed to do without worrying about her kid. All I remember about that story is that it had a gasoline fairy in it. My coworker at the time was impressed with my talent to come up with a story on the fly, but honestly, for me it wasn’t hard. I’d been telling myself stories all my life.
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