The Decision

Sometimes you have to make an impossible choice. Kill your savior-lover or let him kill you. Join an evil organization hellbent on destroying the galaxy or murder your father. Craft an incredibly brilliant blog post or pump out some hammer curls.

It’s tough to be me sometimes with the dream-world hobby schedule I keep. Tonight, I will ride the trainer, do 172 squats, write interesting paragraphs, and color with Karsen. Oh yeah, and bake a chicken casserole because you gotta eat in dream-world, too.

My real-world hobby schedule allows for one, or sometimes, two non-chore-based activities if I cut out the extravagent casseroles and go with, oh let’s say, a block of cheese and some apple quarters. That’s wrong. I really only have time for no hobbies. On the worst days, I’ve got negative hobbies…I actually owe myself money for them…or something like that.

Okay, that’s not true either. I don’t actually have time for these things, but I make it. I’m just not entirely clear on why I only seem to make it for hobbies of the exercising kind. I miss writing. I want to create a Pinterest-worthy scrapbook for my kid. I’d like to school him in Candy Land more often. And remember when I played the piano? God, remember that? No? Yeah, man. I used to play a some kick-ass Gianni Schicchi.

Then there’s my tech-loving, college football-obsessessing, hard-working, craft-beer-drinking husband. He makes time for his bagpipes at least once a week. And our son. He’s 4. Most 4-year-olds don’t have hobbies. Mine does. You might of heard of this one. It’s called “arguing with Mommy even though you know you’re wrong.” He makes time for it every single day.

The fact that you are reading some characters on your screen right now is pretty telling of my Wednesday night. It was one where I faced the impossible choice of blogging or bodybuilding, and in the end, I told the exercise to suck it. It was the right decision clearly. And it’s good that no one will be killed over it.

People can’t die of boredom. So you’re safe. I think.