I’m ready for summer, I think. 
I mean, maybe?
It feels stuffy and frustrating at this end of winter, I’m eager for change. I’ve beaten the rugs and swept. I’ve updated my office and cleaned the junk out from in front of the house. But summer’s not going to be a time for rest. I already feel so desperately overwhelmed and overworked, squeezing every second out of every day, that the opportunity to do more, feels impossible and daunting. 
I’m already doing as much as I can, the notion that I’ll shortly be in a position to fit more in feels stupid. It makes me feel stupid. It seems impossible. 

Maybe it’ll be easier when we can play with Roby outside and Roby can play with the outside, maybe that’s how I’ll fit more into the day, but that doesn’t seem very realistic. That seems stupid. Somebody has got to keep her away from the snakes and the snags, and I can’t well do that if I’m in the wood shop or the office or the forest now can I?

I don’t know how we’re supposed to get it all done. 
It just doesn’t seem realistic.