Do you ever get that feeling like you don't know why you're here or what in the hell you're doing? No? You have your shit together? How's that feel?
I so do not have my shit together. The more I try to get it together, the more it falls apart. It's like trying to scramble up a sand dune: the faster I run, the more I slide back down.
There was a time when my life was fairly basic. Go to work, come home, get blasted. During hangovers, spend hours smoking cigarettes and recording my angst in a journal. It was a relaxing life, really; I see that now. I suppose I saw it then, too, which is why I pretty much spent my 20s in just that fashion.
But here I am now. I'm about to turn (I think) 38. I have to keep recalculating because I don't know how old I am anymore. The other day I plucked a grey hair out of the top of my head. I saw this grey hair while cleaning someone else's bathroom sink (I keep my own bathroom light respectably dim). Between Scott and I we have five jobs and a calendar so stuffed with information that we've already moved on to September's margins.
My house is constantly a disaster. It's Promethean. Right now the refrigerator smells like something nasty and I can not locate the source. Maya thinks it's coming from the freezer but if something's rotten in the freezer then I really have issues. The van's radiator hose is still quietly dripping. The garden needs to be weeded. I have three--no, four--different art swaps coming due and I have no time to sit down and do them.
My kids will be in school next week and rather than making the most of our precious hours I'm gnawing at my knuckles waiting for the days to pass.
And yes, I'm also trying to work in exercise, friendships and--ha!--quiet time. It's just frickin ridiculous. I'm rapidly coming to the conclusion that living a put-together grown-up life just can't be done. It's a scam, people. There's no way.
There's a line in The Grapes of Wrath that comes repeatedly to mind: womens is always tired. I get that line. I get it all the way.