In the space of a day I can go from feeling intensely normal, to grossly superior, to absolutely inconsequential.
I can go from "I bet everyone feels this way" to "I bet I am the only one who has the ability to truly feel like this" to "who gives a shit about how I feel anyway?"
Fuck "a day" ... I can rip through all of that in the space of a minute.
Are these the thoughts you are supposed to keep to yourself? Or are these the things that everyone feels and no one says? Or does no one really give a shit?
I just took a bath because I felt like it.
In the middle of the day.
I watched a movie that really inspired and moved and confused the hell out of me while I ate a late breakfast and drank enough strong black coffee to give me the shakes. And then I fed the intense need to sit and reflect while surrounded by hot bubbles and that weird hissing/popping combo that accompanies the bubbles while they dissipate and the water loses its heat.
I was in the bath for roughly 15 minutes when the heat and bubbles decided that they were over it and left. I had two beers in that time.
And now I feel a strong need to explain myself or apologize for my day drinking. And to convince you that I am not an alcoholic. And to tell you that my child was playing legos with his friend in his room where I could hear him the entire time.AND HE WAS FINE. And that I have zero intentions to be drunk-watching my child. And that 2 beers hardly effects me due to my tolerance. And then to reinforce that I am not an alcoholic.
I almost deleted all of that.
That is why I have so much trouble blogging. Because half of my regular readers know me in real life and might become concerned about me.
And then I wonder if they have a right to be concerned or if I should apologize to them.
I spend too much time apologizing to other people for who I am and how I make them feel. I can be highly offensive. I don't answer my phone or send thank-you notes regularly. I don't filter my thoughts and I stick my foot in my mouth at an alarming rate. I don't thank people enough or go around making sure that everyone is ok. I just don't. And I don't want to start. So I apologize for not fulfilling those aspects of my role as a human/friend/relative.
I think too much. I worry too much. I feel too much.
Maybe you do too.
I think so many thinks sometimes that I think myself in circles. And then I become concerned about my thinking circles.
In the bath I went under the water for a second because I enjoy the silence and that awkward feeling of being intensely alone and naked and submerged. I lifted my head enough to bring my eyes above water while still drowning my ears. You think the quite would have stilled my brain - especially since I was willing it to be still.
But I saw that my shower curtain rod wasn't hanging straight, I saw a curtain hanger was open and threatening to let go. I saw paint peeling and dust in the cracks of my ceiling fan. And then I remembered that back when we bought the house the inspector advised that we properly vent the attic. And then I was worried about our insulation. And our shingles. And the driveway. And updating our windows.
I lost the stillness to anxiety. As I often do.
I've lost this post in my anxiety.
I know that I should get treated for this. Or I think I know that. And then I become overwhelmed with finding someone to treat me. I worry that I'll do the research to find the exact perfect Dr. and then they won't take my insurance. I worry about looking through the Dr's that take my insurance and not finding the exact right Dr. I worry about co-pays being budgeted into our monthly numbers.
I worry about getting treated and then losing myself on a completely different dimension.
I worry that by the time you've read this sentence you have lost all respect for me. Or that you never even made it this far because you are calling CPS on me for drinking two beers during the day while watching my kid.
I am anxious about what happens if I hit "publish." Am I fake? Am I too real? Am I superficially real?
Writing this is giving me anxiety.
And I sincerely hope that if you are the anxious OCD type that you didn't make it this far. Because re-reading and editing gave me palpitations. And I am sorry if my anxiety triggered yours.
Now I have anxiety about your anxiety.
That is messed up.
09 February, 2014
08 February, 2014
It is so damn good.
Hold the fake butter please. Add lots of salt.
And bring along a little packet of salt-in-a-napkin for the halfway-into-the-extra-large-bucket point so we don't have to get back up or stick a shaker on our pocket.
Bring a husband who is willing to get popcorn refills when he goes to refresh his Mountain Dew every 13.5 minutes.
Nom nom nom.
Until your tounge is dry and your lips hurt and you've ruined everything else you intended to eat that day.
Feel gluttonous and bloated.
And happy. And fulfilled. And happy.
07 February, 2014
Clint is on a MANcation this weekend. And I am hanging at home with the other man in my life. (Small, light, and handsome)
He backed out of this very vacation 24 hours ago because I was mad at him for something unrelated to him attending the Man Weekend. He was pouting and trying to "punish" himself when he made the misguided decision to back out. (Sorry babe, you were.)
And then I insisted that he go.
Because in anticipation of his MANcation I had made plans for the weekend that included not-him. And him staying home would have ruined those plans.
So off he went in head-to-toe camo with his handle of cheap whiskey and his frozen summer-caught walleye -- giddy as hell. It was adorable.
My plans for the weekend include sleeping without my snoring co-sleeper, snuggling my dog, dating my son, making dinner for two different sets of friends on two different nights, and seeing Frozen (!!).
I am pumped.
And he is off having fun doing MAN things while one of my friends and her daughter stay with me and we execute a good-old-fashioned sleepover.
And I am giddy as hell.
01 February, 2014
I would like to get back to writing regularly.
I have been radio silent for a while now, which was somewhat intentional. I like to lurk in the background of the social media and blog world. I like to observe and silently nod or snort laugh and pretend like everyone I am creeping on is my friend - even though I have met very few of the people and voices that take up my feeds and my free time.
"Oh yeah, one of my friends went through that"... except we are only friends in my head. And I read about their experience from my desk/bed/kitchen/treadmill.
I have continued to struggle with blogger/writer identity over the life of this space.
In attempts to remedy that I have changed the blog name a bunch of times, I have tried to commit to a writing schedule, I have tried to write about nothing specific - and I have tried to write about all the things. I feel like I have tried everything. Except maybe, not trying.
Basically, I annoy myself as a writer when I don't know what to write about. Or when I feel like I cannot be completely honest on here about the topics that I do like to write about.
My favorite blogs to read these days are blogs about the unabashed lives of everyday women/wives/mothers/etc. Blogs like Brittany, Herself and HEY NATALIE JEAN and Neon Fresh. I love the prose on Joy the Baker (and the food photography. and the food.). I obsess over The Bloggess. And I would very much like to be besties with Rage Against the Minivan writer Kristen Howerton. And how could I forget The Art of Simple?
Those voices. I love them.
And sometimes after reading their words I feel like there is no room left for my voice out there. Like what I have to say is not as important or relevant or funny. Like I am white noise.
I have blog anxiety.
Actually, I have everything anxiety. But blog anxiety is in there too. I miss you guys, and I miss writing. And maybe. Just maybe. That is bigger that my anxiety.