I feel tired. Cranky. I’m kinda over how “in touch” with reality and my feelings I have become. While I do feel smarter for some strange reason and free of the closeted guilt I now know I was living with it’s a double edged sword.
I’m feeling some sort of nebulous pressure to do more, BE more, use up my time and space on this earth more productively, create, contribute. This blog is/was the catalyst for exactly all of the aforementioned. I guess I wasn’t prepared for all those thought to come rushing at me. Relentless. Sans television, my brain is on fire with ideas (and “shoulds”). It’s exhausting.
Add to that, my children’s protestations regarding everything from taking a break from video games to whether or not the other sibling is “looking at me” or “touching me” has got me wanting to dive headlong into non-reality-reality-t.v. and not come up for air for days. A little comfortably (AND socially acceptable!) numbness would be fab right now.
So I try some parenting tips (the ones that don’t require duck tape or histrionic yelling) that I’ve recently read about and some I remembered out of the blue from the crawlspace of my mind from a parenting class we attended almost four years ago. Someobviously require consistency to work, because at first attempt my children basically just behave as if I sneezed. They do not heed (except for that moment when they paused to decipher the Japanese coming out of my moving lips).
However a few of those parenting tips bring about some encouraging, more immediate results.
Look at that. I am here. I am PRESENT dammit and making a difference already. The first set of ripples moving out as a result of me trying not to escape from life or myself (or my children, ha-ha!).
And I feel good save for the distant, incessant itch I long to scratch that feels strangely somewhere outside myself. Ah. Not so strange. That itch is about fifteen feet from me, glossy and dark, hanging on my wall.
I am more than the itch, I am more than the itch, I am more than the itch.
That’s my mantra. Feel free to use it as it applies to whatever your “itch” is: the guy, caffeine, buying another pair of shoes (this is an area I cannot offer support. I will only co-sign your bullshit-podiatral-gluttony).
Keep living for real…peace out.*
*(can a forty-four year old mother really say “peace out”? what if I look thirty-four? what if I dress more boho-chic than Burberry and Tory Burch? OKAY, FINE! But I’m leaving it in this post).