I can’t say I have had no time to blog, but rather that I have not found the time for it.  Made the time for it.

So I’ve been on vacation for the past 7 days.  OK, I’ve got 2 kids here and had the hubby here for a few days, but otherwise my time has been my own.  I’m left realizing that like Anne Lindbergh, these weeks should be a solitary venture.

What I have had reinforced by this time is that I’m not living the life I want to live.  I am busy beyond all reason.  My work consumes everything, leaving me nothing to offer anyone outside of it.  Despite my recent efforts to improve my strength via physical therapy – an act of desperation to save my knees – I don’t spend nearly enough time in the sunlight.  I feel bound by so many responsibilities that really should not be mine.  I feel responsible for outcomes of lives that are not my sole responsibility.  I spend most of my days with so much internal chatter in my brain that I simply can no longer focus on anything effectively.

The sea takes all this away.  The sound of the unrelenting surf is medidative – forcing me back to the present over and over again.  The sun rising on the horizon reminds me of the nature of life – each day a new opportunity.  I do not see this any longer in my home life.   I see the start of each day as one filled with problems I cannot possibly solve and the fear that more money will have to be tossed at this nearly 4 year old endeavor.  If I have to spend another $20,000 on something, it better be a trip to Fiji.  But it won’t be.

I’m making an exit strategy, but it will take a while to put into play.  We have threats and opportunities, and in the end, I’ve still got mid-6 figures riding in this.  Hubby says it doesn’t matter and part of me believes him, but part of me knows that he won’t forget a failed investment of this magnitude.  If only it didn’t take 10-12 hours of my day, every day, to keep it afloat.  3 days a week even – that would be tolerable.

I’ve spent this week seeing my husband here miserable with doing “nothing”.  He’s hated carting kids back and forth to a pool or the beach, as they are too young to be left alone just yet at the beach anyway, given the shark attacks.  He left yesterday, finally admitting he really didn’t like kids.  Of course, I’ve known this for 26 years.  Problem is that before they hit adolescence, I really like kids.

I’m lonely when he is here.  I’m lonely when he’s not.

We’re going to have to find some common ground, he and I.  He is happy and proud to see me work – but miserable seeing me depressed and overwhelmed.  I just want to quit.  I hate to even type the words, because it seems like a self-fulfilling prophecy.  Like bringing a wave of negativity onto myself.  But these thoughts lurk in my mind all the time.  And they’re going to take me down anyway unless I figure out a way out that doesn’t waste all the money invested.

What would I do if my time were mine?  How would I spend my days?  I’ve thought about this each and every morning this past week.  I would read, write, put my home in order, prepare for the future when my body fails me.  Grow things. Find old friends.  Stop calculating and timing everything.  Move my body – find its strength and stop overfeeding it.  Think about things other than profit margins, and client satisfaction, and productization and balance sheets.

How exactly am I going to get myself out of this mess?