I Want Too Much

I want to write creatively, for pen and paper to meet, sparks igniting the tip of the pen until a cloud of smoky words drifts into the air, inspiring anyone who wanders into them.

I want to sing, in German and Latin and Spanish, and to sing covers of pop songs and versions of original songs, and to have someone tell me to be sure to keep my shoulders back (look in the mirror when you practice!) so I can fill my lungs with air and not be breathy and flat, and to focus when I'm sight-reading.

I want to play, for my fingers to glide over the piano keys as I close my eyes and forget anything else exists. I don't even want an audience or a YouTube video or a compliment.

I want to take an art class, since my clumsy hands have never learned to paint or sculpt or draw; I just think I should know these things.

I want to take a math class, since I stumbled through pre-calculus with a "C" and no trigonometry background; I want to prove to myself that I can master the unit circle and Pythagorean identities.

I want coffee in the morning and running in the evening and baking gluten free cupcakes in between; I want to clean with homemade, nontoxic cleaners and sew with a sewing machine.

I want volleyball with friends, and glasses of wine as we watch reality TV or play card games.

I want to volunteer on weekends, do Bible study on weekdays, and sit through a church service without thinking about how much work I have at home.

I want books and crossword puzzles to keep my mind sharp and my vocabulary expanding; I can feel myself getting dumber and dumber with time. The brain's a muscle; you have to work it.


But what do I have?
Papers to grade, piled so high I could cry.
Data to analyze and turn in to bosses.
Meetings in the morning and meetings at lunch and emailing over the weekend.
Lessons to plan...if I even have time.
A dusty piano.
Cobwebs covering my vocal cords.
A looming mountain of laundry.
Yogurt for dinner, and lunch, and sometimes breakfast, if I have time.
Little time for who or what I love.
Friends scared to call because I keep flaking out.


I do not know exactly what life is supposed to be, but I know it is not supposed to be all work and no peace, all punishment and no pleasure.
Family, friends, fellowship...these are the important things...right?

I think life is too short to live this way.
Or maybe, I just want too much.