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I knew this guy a long time ago named Tony - this small, tweedy Asian guy who had an unwavering, crush on my friend, Candy. He had the dry sense of humor that Hugh Grant cannot even pull. One day we were sitting on Candy's apartment balcony and he sighed and said "So many women, so little time, Penny." 

A version of that phrase comes to mind often these days. Only it is "So many dreams, so little time." Because it feels like a joke, the things I want to do when I compare it with the actual time I have to spend. I feel as if I am living beyond my means in terms of time. There is not enoough time. Simply not enough. I was thinking of using the stopwatch on my Nano to clock how much time I actually spend doing things that are just for my enjoyment aside from doing laundry, dishes or cooking, playing with or taking care of my daughter, showering, eating and sleeping but I decided against such an experiemnt because I am afraid of what the results will be.

I keep telling myself that there must be women out there who live like this and don't mind. I mean, they must exist because that is the only explanation I have for why I feel like I am such a selfish person for desperately needing no less than 4 solid hours a week alone, without interruption, to write or surf the net or pick my fucking toenails. In reality, I cannot remember getting exactly that allotment of time since.... well, I don't remember it. Up until my babysitter quit this week, we "scheduled" eight hours a week of time that I was to be free, but more often than not, she canceled anyway and/ or I screwed myself by "getting other things done" during my free time.

I am resentful that this time, my time, was treated as a luxury for me by this babysitter.She never seemed to get that when she canceled, the result was that I didn't get to do the things I needed to in order to stay a sane person - not just a happy person I am resentful that it is not viewed as important as time MJ gives to work projects. I see the logic - we don't get paid for me to enjoy myself writing. But mostly, I am afraid of how I feel when I don't get that time to debrief myself. Unless I I have time to think, write and listen to music, I am a real bitch because I can't process my feelings at all. I don't know how to explain it except to say that I need my personal time like I need food. I don't feel that I am exaggeratting at all when I say that.

When my daughter was first born, the only time I could relax was when she was sleeping. She is older now, so I don't have to hold her in my arms every waking minute, yet she sleeps less, I am just as physically exhausted from playing with her and now I have even LESS time to think about things I enjoy, let alone sit down at the computer and write.
By 9:30 each night I can hardly keep my own eyes open. A nightlife is not an option for me.

These women that do It All - I hate them. Sometimes I try very hard to imagine what they are like, the kinds of women who do not need any time to themselves except to shower, shave and dress themselves in matching outfits. I imagine they are very dull and do not care much about the world outside if thier child's room and playdates. I imagine them with empty glazed eyes when I ask them what they want to do besides raise their children.

I'm sure this is an unfair assessment, but fuck all - I am not obligated to anyone but my own family, right? And frankly, my family would be lot better off if I liked myself, if I could tell them something more than where the tupperware is stored, if I had time to nourish my mind and soul. This would result in more creative play with my daughter, I'm sure. Not to mention actual conversations with my husband that do not revolve around poop.

So many dreams, so little time.

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