It’s been a nerve-wrecking week, and the reason (okay, reasonsss) I’ve been M.I.A. out here is this: I’ve been working. I’ve been running. I’ve joined a kick-aerobics class. I’ve been trying to rush home in time and cook dinner without getting lazy. And I’ve been trying to squeeze in some reading before bedtime. Have I succeeded? Not on all counts. Have I failed miserably? No, not at all.
All that’s come of it is the mighty realization that being a working woman means you can never have it all, just the way you want it. Unless of course you choose to give up sleeping altogether. Because if I want to make time for exercise, I realise I need to cut back on work. If I want to come home and cook, I need to give up my evening web-surfing and blogging. If I want to read before I go to bed, I have to give up an hour of sleep. If I want to catch up with the husband post work (and I mean really catch up, not half-heartedly while I cook dinner and he sips his beer standing in the kitchen), we have to give up cooking dinner at home altogether and go out instead. If I want to pack a home-cooked lunch to take to work, I have to wake up 20 minutes earlier than planned. So in the bargain I give up the things that my life doesn’t directly depend on. Only to realise 5 days later that I have missed talking and sharing here. I have missed letting the words take their shape as tiny letters on this document.
Yes yes, I can hear some of you going that’s true for just about anybody, not just the working woman. And honestly, that’s life. Yes, I know, but at 27, having suddenly realized the joys of having my own home, living by my rules and (just to add a little drama to the mix) very quickly having jumped into a full time job, the enormity of living and experiencing this truth is sometimes just too heavy for my little shoulders.
But I want to do it all. I want to be able to have my home spic and span all the time, which means I want to be able to pay attention to every nook and cranny every day. Or every other day at least? I want to be able to go to work, spend all my time actually working rather than worrying about a broken fridge, the grocery list that needs to be made and bought, the modem that wont get fixed unless I physically make a trip to the BSNL office, blah blah blah. I want to be able to leave work at 6, satisfied with a day spent well. I want to be able to have the energy after all that, to go for a run and get my daily exercise like I know I should. I want to, at the end of all of that, to be able to come home, fix myself a nice hot shower, quickly freshen up and then whip up a nice healthy dinner. Quickly, might I add. Because I’m positively starving and ready to eat the husband (or pretty much any other unknowing creature to come my way) alive.
The past week has been a sudden affirmation of the fact that I’ve got to get out of this rut that its so easy to slip into and act on the many plans I have made for myself. That’s all they are: plans. Airy dreams, castles in the sky, intangible, elusive and still out of reach. To travel. To spend more time at home. To make some time for the husband. To stay healthy. To do my job the best way I can. To visit the parents. To start saving up. To buy a home someday. To take an expensive holiday once a year.
With a choc-a-bloc routine like this, I have virtually no time for myself. Forget the husband, who often feels Im always up to something, never just sitting, chilling, being with him. And people wonder why I have chosen not to have any children. Can you imagine how lethal that would be?
All you working women, how do you do it? The ones with children, hats off to you! Now that I’ve established I want to do it all, who’s going to hand me my SuperWoman suit?