When I was younger, weekends were a time for entertainment. I'd hang with friends, go on long bike rides, go to movies (nothing better than a movie in the middle of the day).
Now weekends are when I organize my mind. I write, I consider a prospective novel, I plan career improvements. This, for some reason, takes hours. Slow, methodical hours.
If I miss having that time, as I did while hiking a few weeks ago, my life falls apart. Oh, I get my work done at work, and I fulfill my responsibilities around the house, but my writing career careens off the road and lies upside down in a ditch, wheels slowly spinning.
I don't know why this is. Sure, work and family take a lot of time and energy, but it doesn't seem that it should require so much direction to keep everything else moving.
But it does. And I know it. Two weekends since I got back from the Wind River Range, and I am only now getting things in order--a book proposal for my agent, a new short story, and some freelance marketing work.
If I work it right, I can keep things going until family holidays disrupt it again. Wish me luck!