It is never good to start a Monday by jolting wide awake from a nightmare. One in which you are privy to a nuclear bomb, complete with hearing the blast, seeing the flash, and wondering if the backpack you’re toting and the fingers in the ears are going to fuse there. Really must thank the book Pure for that last little bit; most disturbing book I read all summer. So, needless to say, it was a most wearying start to a long day.
Too many bits of the candle are being burnt at too many ends, and I’m just a puddle of wick-less goo flickering dimly. Hence the complete lack of posts for nearly two weeks. I can’t even say it’s any one thing, just the added weight of so many things over the last three years. Compound interest, if you will. Last year at this time I thought for sure I’d have my shit together by this date, for surely it couldn’t all continue at that pace and intensity.
Last year I joined the site 10Q. To blatantly copy from their site:
10Q was inspired by the traditional ten days of reflection that occur between the Jewish holidays of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, a period of time that’s long been considered an opportunity to look at where you’re at, where you’ve come from, and where you’re heading. Whether you’re Jewish or not, though, 10Q is a great way for anyone to look back at the year that’s past, look ahead at the year to come, and take stock. That’s a beautiful thing in any language.
I answered deep, thought-provoking questions for ten days. Things on what you wanted to improve, where you thought your life was going, how you felt about your life. It was what I needed last year…and not so much what I needed to see now. See, 10Q sends your questions and answers back to you the next year before Rosh Hashanah and mine popped up in ye olde inbox today. To a one, every answer could have been written this morning. That was sickening to acknowledge, and I’d like to apologize to 2011 Jen for totally janking up the last 12 months. Hell, the last 36 months. No wonder I feel the way I do. I’m not living, I’m surviving. That sucks and I don’t know how to change it.
I’m not much of a horoscope believer…but I also think there’s an awful lot about the universe we don’t know or understand (and here my biostatistician dad just bounced his head off the keyboard). So I read the occasional horoscope, and take it with a hefty grain of salt. At the beginning of 2012 I checked out my reading for the year, and learned that Saturn! has been stuck in Libra! since October of 2009, has been hell-bent on teaching some hard lessons (what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger), and will finally get the hell out on October 3rd. My grain of salt dove into the margarita at that point. Tom and I are both Libra (yeah, I’m married to myself…), and all hell began to unwrap itself in October of 2009, so…yeah. October 3rd is just a few delicious days away, and I may celebrate by running up and down the streets naked playing a kazoo with a marmoset on my head. The past three years…have been…bad. There are various levels of bad, and at this point we’re maybe a notch or two above holy shit that is heartstoppingly bad. So if October 3rd is The Most Holy Day when things might actually start to turn around and MAYBE OUR LUCK WILL BE OF THE GOOD VARIETY FOR A FREAKING CHANGE, then I will look forward to that day and celebrate it with all kinds of confetti and glitter and vuvuzuelas. TRUST me, dear Saturn-stuck-in-Libra, I’ve learned some lessons and I’m hells stronger for them, so just take your PITA bad luck self and get the hell out. And whatever planet is in charge of good luck and smooth sailing and financial improvement, YOU come hang out for a few years. I really can’t take much more bad luck. No, seriously. Not just mentally and emotionally, we just can’t afford any more bad luck.
Where was I going with all this? Beats me. I’m tired. Emotionally wrung out, mentally dragged under the bus, so sick of much of my life, desperate to change it and have no idea how. I’m sure that will now result in another flurry of calls and emails to my husband to make sure I’m ok; no need to bother him. He’s as wiped as I am, which makes it Double The Fun at the House of Chaos these days. BUT! We still have delightful children in this home to keep us on our toes. A conversation from this evening:
A: MOM! At my drug presentation tonight at Scouts I learned that red wine kills your precious brain cells. So, you know, stop drinking red wine.
Me: Sweet child, I guaranTEE that raising you two has killed more of my precious brain cells than any wine I’ve supped, and you don’t see me giving you guys up. (And put THAT in your pipe and smoke it, you little smart ass!)
Never a dull moment.