I was putting some Christmas decorations up outside today
when I realized that I was in a terrible mood. I don’t know what made me
realize it. Maybe it was when I dropped a string of lights and busted half the bulbs….and
laughed. Maybe it was when I stepped in the oil puddle that Bessie left for me
in the garage. Maybe it was I chopping kindling and whacked the side of my
thumb with a hatchet. I can’t tell you the time, and I can’t tell you the
place, but it’s just been one of those days when you feel like punching
somebody in the face.
As the guys sat around watching football and playing games
today, I decided to clean out My Documents on my computer. I found one I wrote
several years ago named “Bucket List”.
I’m big on bucket lists. Maybe it’s because I’m a
stay-at-home-mom that, on paper, hasn’t accomplished a whole heck of a lot. In
real life either, for that matter. I know, I know, I have three gorgeous, funny
children and a great husband….but that’s not me, that’s them.
Like so many other moms, I lost my identity when my children
were born. I became the caregiver…the diaper changer…the dishwasher…the toilet
scrubber.
I don’t know if you’d call what I’m going through now a
midlife crisis or what, but when I look at how little I’ve accomplished, I feel
like smashing my head into a wall. I’m 34, and I’m still in college. I’ve just
realized what I want to do (be a writer), but that’s not exactly one of those
things you just get your degree in and go right to work.
But today, I got on my computer, and I found my bucket list.
I wrote it several years back after my best friend from college was killed in
an accident. Maybe thinking about that is what put me in such a crappy mood.
As I looked over it, I realized I’d checked off several
things.
- · Snorkeling
- · Going on a girl’s trip
- · Horseback riding
- · Trying sushi
- · Making a quilt
- · Making good biscuits
- · Trying lobster
- · Help someone have a light-bulb moment
There are a few more, but these were some of the more recent
ones.
But, being a spoiled American, I couldn’t help but notice
the things I’m still nowhere near.
- · Taking the kids on a Disney cruise
- · Make $40K a year (I shoot for the stars, don’t I?)
- · Have a job that I absolutely love (more important than $40K)
- · Make a difference in someone’s life
My bucket list has miraculously transformed into a rousing
rendition of “There’s A Hole In My Bucket, Dear Liza.” Do you ever get caught
up in the vicious cycle that I get sucked into? I guess it’s part of suffering
from depression.
The first stage is anger…at anybody and everything. It’s the
worst kind of anger because there’s no specific cause or target. You’re mad at
everything that isn’t just how you expected it to be. Like today at Sonny’s…there’s
this innocent family sitting there that I know nothing about, yet within 10
minutes, I’m ready to shave their heads and put them in a freezer. Why? Because
the boy was wearing a sweatshirt from a snotty tennis academy….and his long
hair made him look like a sissy….and because the parents were sitting there
devouring each other like they were in search of hidden meatball subs. Get a
room!
The next stage is listlessness. During this stage, being a
couch potato seems like an impossible goal. You don’t want to do anything.
You don’t want to breathe. You don’t want to bathe. You don’t want to feel the
way you do. You just want to go to sleep to pass the time. You’re tired of
answering the same ridiculous questions hour after hour, day after day. Honey, right
now I don’t give two rat turds how much a tree weighs, what Tiana’s address is,
or why Ursula is so mean. I don’t want to talk to anybody on your princess
phone, and honestly, I don’t care how many computer graphics you’ve slain in
your quest for fictional world dominance.
The third stage is feeling sorry for yourself. Why don’t I
have this? Why can’t we just have an easy year for once? Why did we have to
move? Why did God make me leave all my friends and turn back into a recluse? Why
did my son’s closest friend (since moving) have to move into an RV in somebody’s
driveway and move to a different school? Why can’t my daughter understand that
I would feel a lot better if Chris Rock, Princess Tiana and Cinderella would
stop telling me what to do? (Thank goodness she's there to deliver the
messages.) Why did God put someone who loves to cook in a house with the
pickiest bunch of butts on God’s green earth? I love them, but they’ve made me
hate my kitchen…and that leads me back to the next step. (Yes, that is written
correctly.)
The final step, for me at least, anger…again. But this time,
it’s anger with myself. Why can’t I just appreciate what I have? Why is it
never enough? Why can’t I cook in a way that they’ll like what I fix? Why do I
get annoyed that my daughter wants to talk to me? (Because it’s 23 hours a day,
that’s why.)
I’m a stay-at-home-mom, but my house is never clean enough…the
meals are never tasty or healthy enough…the clothes are never clean enough.
I’m a student, but my grades are never good enough…I hate
the course of study I’m in…I’m never as successful as I should be.
I’m a wife, but I’m never the one my husband deserves…I’m
not wearing a dress, high heels, and full make-up when he gets home from a long
trip. He’s lucky if I’m wearing anything fancier than pajamas.
I’m a mother, but I’m not good at that either. No matter
what I cook, somebody complains about it. No matter how long I search to find
decent clothes in their sizes, they’re never what they would’ve picked. No
matter what I do with my time, it’s never the right thing. I never do enough…I
never do the right things…I never please anybody.
And that’s where I am right now. I know there are people
with a lot more serious problems right now, which sends me back to being mad at
myself for being so inconsiderate. I guess I’m just another disgruntled (or is
it just gruntled?) housewife that’s tired of feeling invisibly inferior.
Last night, I dreamed I was working at K-Mart. They hired
me, but wouldn’t give me a name tag because it didn’t matter who I was. I was
just another employee. They wouldn’t tell me exactly what my job description
was, just complained that I hadn’t done everything I was supposed to. One of
the tasks I was supposed to do drive other people’s dogs around this race track
in a go-cart. I ripped the governor off of the darn cart and had fun for awhile,
but while I was driving, someone stole my flip-flops and threw them in the mud.
Well played, Mr. Sandman, well played.
No comments:
Post a Comment