The Mundane

I look down watching my hands occupied chopping a carrot, my face contorting into a strain of concentration. The noise of demands being hollered at me are like a quiet whisper to my selective ears. Crumbs spread from counter to sink to floor sticking to the bottoms of my feet as I switch between stove and cutting board. Up and down they jump from chair to floor, a cup tumbles over spilling milk. I move, wipe and clean. Someone cries that they stubbed their toe. Another needs help in the bathroom. The cat observes from the safety of the top of the refrigerator. My phone dings alerting me to a text, he’ll be home late, again. I look up my eyes meet the white door of the cabinet. I squint and see the knots of the wood beneath the paint forming an oval shaped swirl. The noise rises all around me and I feel my blood tingling the back of my neck. I clinch my fist. I wonder if I can punch through the knot of the cabinet? My ears ring bombarded by voice, screams, music, thoughts. She gazes up with sepia colored eyes, “Are you happy Mommy?” I feel my eyes burn and fill with wetness. Quickly I rub them pretending it is an itch. Deep breath before I force myself to meet her gaze, “Yes baby, Mommy is happy.”

Most of the time I think I am talking to the air. No one HEARS what I am saying. My words float away into a the great void, traveling for eternity, landing no where.

“Why are you so miserable?”

A valid question that I don’t have an answer to. How can I sort out my own complex emotions that are perceived by another person as misery? Instead I fight and I cry feeding the perception of my miserable state. After, I tell myself to never reveal that kind of open heart emotion again because it is too painful and the aftermath too embarrassing. I lay in the dark straining to see into my past, present, future and make sense of the reality I live. I find no answers, the path is not straight and there is no light at the end of the tunnel, it simply is. I am who I am and I cannot explain it to you or to myself. I’m sorry I’m not more cheerful, domesticated or demure for you. I know you deserve more but this is all I can give…

It is what it is, I am who I am.

The last few years as my birthday approaches I feel depression creep up. Today I was thinking about why that is. On Twitter my followers assume it is because I don’t want to feel old. My family thinks it’s a passive aggressive way of me asking for a party.

What I think is this:

As each year passes I feel less and less like I have accomplished anything at all. If I was to die tomorrow what have I really contributed to this world? On Saturday 34 years will have passed without me giving much of anything…doing anything of significance. The reason I feel depressed is because it is now in my mid-30’s that I want to spread my wings and LIVE the life that I was too scared to live before. This depression that I feel is actually regret. Why didn’t I shed this fear of living sooner and let my confidence and heart guide me? I can’t do what I want now…I have responsibilities and obligations that keep me on a pretty short leash. Instead of feeling regret for my past and wallowing in a pity party of my current circumstances I’d rather force myself to a change. In a way snap myself out of this “mundane” and “locked in sameness” lifestyle I find myself in and make it different.

So this year I want to give myself a goal for my 34th year…..LET MYSELF DREAM OF POSSIBILITIES. No matter how ridiculous or obscure or impossible those dreams may be I am going to voice them…document them. Who knows, maybe one day one of them will no longer be a dream but a reality.

I’ll still be getting drunk on saturday. I’ll still send depressing tweets about my birthday. I will still wallow in my regret for a few more days. Then come Sunday it is time for the dreaming to begin.

thepatternsrepeating:

“…it’s a shame that we have to live, but it’s a tragedy that we get to live only one life…” Jonathan Safran Foer, Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close

I really want to get my tattoo for my birthday. I also want to have dinner with my family…parents, sister, brother, my kids maybe even a few friends. I’d love to escape for a weekend, alone. Instead I’m doing nothing to celebrate. Another year passing and no reason to celebrate except a hashmark to show the passing of the year. New gray hairs to show the stress of life taking it’s toll. Wrinkles and sun spots letting the world know I’m no longer a young thing.

It’s not all lost… I did buy myself a few gifts, ones that I love and enjoy. I will get hugs and kisses from my kiddos. People will make the obligatory post on my FB timeline. It all seems empty. We stop getting what we want for our birthday once we pass into adulthood. It really stops being important when you have kids and they suck the attention and the life from you. It’s ok, that is what being a kids is about. Today I feel sorry for myself, tomorrow maybe I’ll be happy to have the attention off the fact that I am aging and feel like I have nothing left to give this tired world.

I was told today, in person, that a family member has decided to unfollow me on Twitter. Why, I ask? He says that he used to think that I was my authentic self on there and now he realizes that it is all snark and not who I really am. Hmm. I was a little surprised and slightly offended by it. True, I am snarky on there and tweet things that can be taken offensively. Then again do I really say anything that is horrible that requires an unfollow? I mean seriously, what is so bad about what I say on my Twitter feed? Once in a while I drunk tweet, “Fuck you” or “Fuck life”, I even confess to having a drunk dance-off with my sister. I tweet a shit load about my #lifeasamother and my #hatecooking sentiments. I tweet about drinking bourbon, beer and coffee (not all at the same time, of course). I ask, what is wrong about releasing that information out into the universe? Isn’t that why we all join Twitter, to vent anything and everything?

This unfollow rubbed me the wrong way because it comes on the heels of my Mr. critisizing me about my twitter feed this past weekend. He says I am too extreme, that it’s odd I have “relationships” with strangers and he doesn’t understand why I tweet. I said to him, “Then why the fuck are you reading it, asshole?” I didn’t really say that, but I wanted to.  I feel like Twitter is becoming another Facebook, where I am judged and criticized for having an opinion, for being who I am. I want to yell and tear my hair out and scream, “FUCK YOU ALL!” People don’t want to except me as I am today. They want me to crawl back to that conservative, meek, mild mannered girl I used to be. I won’t go back to that. I refuse to live in the confines of what society says I SHOULD be. There is only what I AM!!!

(Deep breath) I will not internalize this shit and beat myself up for evolving into who I am. Let him and the rest of those uptight assholes unfollow me, I am choosing not to care.