Have you ever fought long and hard for something only to wake up one day and discover any effect you may have had on the problem is so small as to seem pointless?
Three years of law school, four years of practice, a handful of species advanced along the road to recovery.
One ginormous oil spill.
I can’t watch the effects anymore. I can’t stop myself from crying when I do. What the fuck is the point of trying to protect bio-diversity if entire eco-systems can be wiped out with a single mechanical failure?
Every now and then I feel as though fighting for bio-diversity is like running in place but now it feels like being pushed right off the damn treadmill.
I can’t get free. I am trapped under piles of sloppy baby kisses, inquisitive answer seeking, purring furball love, and barking madness.
Everywhere I look there is someone who needs to be taken care of.
Every day there are countless messes to clean up.
I used to swear my children would only watch thirty minutes of educational television a day.
I promised myself they would have endless supplies of paint, modeling clay, and paper.
I swore my children would spend at least an hour outside in the sun, engaging in active play.
I promised to feed them whole meals comprised of fruits, veggies, dairy, and protein, and to only provide them with wholesome snacks.
I swore I would only drink fresh brewed coffee and eat organic foods so I would be energetic and healthy enough to keep up with my children.
Then I started a business.
Now I sit before you with the same cup of yesterday’s coffee that I have had to reheat three times already because I turned the television off after an hour and a half of brain-numbing crap cartoons and made the children play.
Since turning off the television they have gotten into twelve arguments over toys, all of them have come crying to me about being pushed or falling down at least twice, and the floors are sticky because they amused themselves by dripping juice from the “spill proof” sippy cups I gave them. Right now they are coloring in the living room, but eventually they will start fighting over the crayons.
Soon I will make macaroni and cheese for their lunch and turn back on the television so they will eat in peace. Then I will reheat yesterday’s coffee for a fourth time, consume a quickly cooked hot dog, and reflect on how peaceful the house is when I embrace my fallen standards.
Managing life with chronic illness requires savvy spoons
