For some reason I've always felt like I had to be funny in order to post on here. I say "for some reason" like I don't know....I know exactly what my deal is. But that's for another post (but probably not;). I figure no one reads this anyway so what the fuck. Why not use it any which way I like. That's the point of these things, right? To get out....whatever? To brag about how beautiful your food prep skills are...to whine about how unfair and shitty your life is...to shock people in order to get a rise out of them...to be someone different than the person you are in reality??? Because in reality your food tastes like shit...your life is boring as all hell...and your inner demons keep you from developing a personality that lends itself to being ballsy enough to say what's really on your mind. This is MY blog, right? So, fuck it. I'll say what I want, when I want....yeah, I'm not that brave. I guess I'll say some things that I want to get out but in a semi tactful manner and at the appropriate time. Best I can do. As much as I love to cuss, I'm still Ms. Manners, through and through.
What's on my mind? Hmmm....well, for starters...why does love need to be difficult? If it isn't difficult, then is it even considered love? I've been with people that are very pleasant to be around but there was zero passion. On the other end of the spectrum are the people I've had such intense passion for that it is impossible to be with them without wanting to fucking kill them. Why can't there be both passion AND normalcy? Or maybe there can but I'm just not programed that way. How come I'm not? Maybe I'm just meant to be alone. That's my love conundrum.
Motherhood. It's Mother's Day and I feel like the prom queen that was voted to the throne by default simply because she was the only girl in the entire class. I don't feel like I deserve all this praise and adoration for a job I've fallen down on more times than I can count. My kids are lucky if their teeth get brushed twice a week. I maybe cook a hot mean once a week...the rest of the time it's grilled cheese and hot dogs. I let them stay up way too fucking late...I hide under the covers from them...I turn up the air purifier to drown out the coughing at night...I let them watch crap on tv that's sure to drop their IQ...I don't do friend birthday parties...cookie cake and take out is about all I can muster. I don't deserve the pedestal. Take it the fuck away. It just reminds me of what a horrible Momma I am. That's my Mother's Day conundrum.
My weight. I'm doing my best...that's a lie...I'm not at all even trying.
Life. The problem is I still feel adrift. I keep falling in love with people
I can't have, not living up to my full Momma potential, and completely sabotaging my ability to get my body healthy. Repeated rut. Over and over. I'm not in a full on depression. The fog hasn't come, thank god. Like the beautiful woman in the painting, my eyes are closed but my head is above the water. I'm still clear headed and in charge. I work hard at being a teacher....that's about the only thing I put all my effort into. If I could take just a smidge of that effort and spread that smidge evenly amongst the other aspects of my life, then I think everything
would be alright. I'm not going to be perfect. I won't find the perfect love. I will never be the perfect Momma. I will ALWAYS love food so I don't think having a perfect body is something I even
want. Consistent happiness. That's what I want. To feel content, not perfect. Just content....with a dash of passion.
I think I need to write more and think less. I'm going to try to do that.
