Apparently I’m losing my mind, wits, marbles – whatever. I lost things, let’s put it that way. And I can’t seem to find them. To be quite honest, I’m not sure where to look and I’ve procrastinated a bit. Okay, I haven’t looked.
My brain isn’t working, I cannot make myself do things I don’t like and I much prefer altered states of consciousness. Not conducive to my life and it’s not working out well. I seem to recently have these new rules for myself that are quite limiting. For example, I’m not allowed to leave the house after dark on a weeknight. It’s bad. This restricts movie watching at a theatre. And I must have the option of being in bed by 9:30, never mind the fact that rarely happens. No phone conversations after work. Or at work. They’re exhausting. Absolutely no doing anything different. Nope, not me. I will do the same goddamn things until my tracks are so ingrained I can’t see out of them. Ask me why? I have no idea. I know better, and chose less. Maybe removing body parts will make things different. Maybe they’ll find my wits in there, and they’ve just been hiding in my uterus. I wouldn’t blame them, it’s nice, dark and warm.
Oh god, it’s only 4:25.
I wish I had something really smart to say about all this. I got nothin’. It’s been around 6 months since I’ve written anything on this blog, mostly because I forgot about it. Today I remembered, wishing I had someone to talk at, that would just listen and nod in agreement. Here we are, you and I, go ahead and nod away.
Many endings and changes since December: my relationship ending, kids moving out, sanity gone. Not much would ever surprise me , or so I thought. Then I found a cyst and my right ovary, had it removed in April. Doctors determined it was ovarian cancer, stage 1. I’ll be going back in two weeks from today to have all the rest taken out, including my appendix. Then chemo for a bit. I’ll be in menopause and require HRT.
It’s an odd thing, having cancer. It’s exactly what you think it would be like – full of denial, resistance, disbelief and all that, and I don’t have anything major, really. Just need to do a clean sweep and I should be okay…fingers crossed. It makes you ask a lot of existential questions; tease the unimportant from the truly valuable, and examine what control you do or don’t have. It’s exhausting. And enlightening. I’ve decided I really want to be happy. I REALLY WANT TO BE HAPPY! Did you hear me? And I’m not. I don’t think I ever have been. Most of what I do, most of the time, is not making me happy. I know all the bull shit about choices, and focus and gratitude – I’m a fucking therapist for Christ’s sake. But really, it takes doing something different, not just changing your self talk. That’s where I am now, anyway. I’m sure it will change. My intent is to write about it for a while and see where I go.
Two weeks and counting…
Um, this office may be killing me. I believe all the fun life has been sucked out of me and I’m turning into a non-person. Which is what HR people become: non-people. My clothes are becoming more bland, lipstick a shade more neutral and earrings just a bit smaller. Less attention grabbing. Mmmmm, that’s fun.
Did I mention the Halloween costume conversation around the kitchen microwave today? Some stupid little shit is going as a princess – imagine that. Never happened before. Ever. You might as well go ahead and give her the “you’re worthless unless men love you, and by the way your boobs are small” talk, because that’s where the princess outfits ultimately get you. Get her boobs done now, why don’t ya! Get it over with. God forbid we come up with another kind of ultimate dream for little girls.
Ahhhh, that’s better. Just enough and now I can get through traffic. It’s Friday! My kids are 18 and NOT in jail! No one is going to starve if I don’t cook and I may just read the night away with a bottle of wine. Not. Too. Shabby.
Monday morning starts off with my alarm working perfectly. Apparently I am not. Never heard a sound from 5:45 am when the alarm began it’s attempts to arouse me, until I actually woke up (primarily because it was so damn bright in my bedroom) at 8:30 am.
As I rush around to make coffee and gather my wits, my non-working or going to school 17 year old, (who will be working by Tuesday, AND enrolled in an online program or she’ll be lacking a house and food) strolls out of her room in a perky mood, looking beautiful and well refreshed, asking if she may have some coffee while humming a tune. Why does this make me hate her more than I already do? One can infer, I have my own reasons.
Now it’s 11:45 am and I’m still attempting to ingest enough coffee to lose the puffy eyes and co-workers are microwaving their lunch, making the whole place smell like food – yuck! Half my day is missing and I’m trying to catch the hell up. And write about it. Because writing about it helps. And takes up more time. And I work better under pressure.
It just struck me how ironic it is that on my way into work I was planning out what to “steal” from my daughters room in order to make her feel a similar rage I felt this morning when I couldn’t find my blush or eye shadow (“Hmmmm, I said to myself, I wonder where it could be” – not really, that’s not at all what I said). And now I sit at my computer getting ready to respond to an email from a colleague about a “working moms support group” and how I can help support their mission of being perfect, loving, doting parents as well as world renowned academics.
Three weeks in and yes, I’m blogging while I’m at work. I think that at 4:25p one should be able to do what one wants until 5:00p. So I am.
The next thing I don’t do well is: fit in with a political office of professionals. Oh wait, I am one. Shit. The difference is that I’m not a good politic. I don’t like it. Say what you mean people! If there are unwritten rules, fucking write them down so I don’t break them! Jesus, I feel like I’m in church. I keep waiting for something I can do well, but so far nothing has worked out, and this is no exception.
On the kid front, my daughter is home packing and plans to move out at 8p. Why you ask? Because I’m a crazy bitch and apparently being upset with her for skipping school, getting in trouble with a teacher for being mouthy, (different day) and not keeping me posted on where and what she is doing is too damn much for her to take! Is it bad that I’m kind of excited? Yea, I thought so. She’s 17, I really don’t have much recourse besides being a bitch! I’m supposed to go home after work and “talk to her”. What I really want to say is “don’t forget to write!” (Side note: I have no idea whether the exclamation point goes inside or outside of the quote). I also got a text today from my son (17 too, remember?) who is staying with a friends mom becuase he hates his dad and I will not let him live with me, (another looooong story) and their pipes burst so he needs a ride to take a shower. Really? WTF else. I am tired. Tiiiiiiiirrrreeeeeeeddddddd. I don’t have the capacity in my body to care or act like I care. I want to be left alone to knit, watch violent TV and yell at the dog.
It’s a new freaking year, now what. There’s a lot of theoretical pressure surrounding a New Year. Resolutions and such. I usually say I won’t make a bullshit resolution and secretly do, though not saying it out loud means it’s not bound by any real expectations or hopes. If I were to resolve myself to do something, anything, this year it would be to become good at something…other than failing. Like knitting. I tried to start last night but after winding the yarn ball too tight I realized it was doomed. My first three attempts at casting on were too tight and I gave up by throwing the needles. Of course my completely talented and handsome boyfriend was better at it than me. Ironically, I’m trying to knit a scarf for him. Today I will try again. Alone. Tight ass yarn balls and all. New Year’s day with the dog, yarn balls in a tea cup (so they don’t roll around and tempt said dog), no kids or family and warm feet. Nice. If only I could enjoy it. I’m anxious and untalented. I suppose there are worse things. I’ll keep plugging along, if for no other reason than to just see what happens. My poor boyfriend.