Sigh. Where to begin?
My 35th birthday is coming up. Freddie asked me what I wanted, since he suggested going to see Billy Elliot on Broadway and I shot that down. Not in a mean way, but I love that movie more than is reasonable and I feel like the Broadway show will ruin it for me. Plus, Elton John is involved, and… shut up, Elton John.
So… what do I want?
I have plenty of things. I am in desperate need of new clothes, BUT I refused to buy clothes for the size I am now so maybe when I lose 50 pounds I will be more interested, but the kinds of clothes that are produced for the size lady I am are hideously ugly and certainly don’t help with the body-image issues I already have. I will continue to wear ratty concert t-shirts and cargo shorts and Chuck Taylors until I get that part of me in shape. It’s a work in progress, and a slow one.
I have books. I have music. I have… things.
What I do not have is… mental health? I don’t know. This year has been really hard so far because I haven’t been feeling like I ever have time off. There is always something going on, even on the weekends. I need quite a bit of downtime to get my head in order and I haven’t had very much of that lately.
I get up around 6AM, when the dog starts chewing on her leg or whatever the hell she does that shakes the bed. She does that for about a half-hour, then the nosing and face-licking starts because she has to go out. It was slightly better when she slept in her crate because then I could ignore her for that extra 15 minutes, but now? Not so much. The upside is that she wakes Freddie up, too.
But *I* take her out. I don’t get 10 minutes to wake up and figure out what planet I’m on before I have to do stuff. I get out of bed, into clothes and am out the door within 5 minutes. It sucks, especially (or perhaps because) I am not a morning person.
Some of the more snarky of my acquaintances will take this opportunity to say “well, you’re not an afternoon or an evening person either” and I will take this opportunity to tell those people to just fuck right off. Whatever it is that you think of me, you’re probably wrong so fuck off. For sure. Like, totally. People seem to have these preconceived notions of who I am and what I will do, and then they have the nerve to act disappointed when I defy their expectations. I have come to realize lately that a lot of people whom I consider friends… aren’t. It will be a slow process to divest myself of them, but I think it has to be done because I am too old and have had quite enough.
Anyway, once the dog is taken care of, more often than not, I have to drive Freddie to the train station because he is a princess and is either running late (oh, to sleep in even for ten minutes!) or the weather isn’t perfect for walking a mile or… whatever the fuck. I don’t know. I do it and I don’t really complain to him about it, because (as he reminds me fairly often) it’s my job.
Yes, I chose this life. I love it. I do. I am insanely grateful that I don’t have to get up and go out to work because that is never a good thing for me. But I never, ever, EVER get a break. Ever. I never have downtime. Ever. Even at night, if Jillian or the dog have some kind of emergency and need tending, *I* do it. Motherhood/half-assed housewifery is truly a 24/7 sort of job. And, again, I wouldn’t trade it, but some time off would be nice.
I feel sort of broken. It’s like I carry not only my own emotional burden (and let me tell you, it’s a big one because I am… erm… yeah) but that of everyone else around me, too. People like to tell me their problems and I feel like I give good advice, but I haven’t figured out how to shake the feeling that I’m carrying all of this stuff. My own shit is quite enough, and oftentimes far too much.
SO, what I really really really would like to have is a week’s vacation, to just go somewhere else and be BY MYSELF. No husband, no kid, no dog, no JGz, no Facebook, no internet, nothing. Since that notion really crystallized just this morning, I’m not sure what that would look like, exactly, but that’s what I want. Even a long weekend somewhere else completely would be so amazing, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.
Sigh. Where to begin?
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