Oy to the vey, ppl. I am a mess these last few weeks, I swear. On a scale of mental serenity where one is the Dalai Lama and ten is having to put scotch tape over your thumbs because you ran out of bandaids and you picked your cuticles to bloody pulps, you could say that I am the literal manifestation of the latter. Or basically, I closed my eyes and ever-so-slightly nodded my head up and down to this…
See, I do have lofty rainbow aspirations for a flawless, well-oiled existence. No really, I have an actual list of conditions that I feel, if met, would make life close to perfect. For instance, if I can maintain consistent sleeping patterns and keep up with laundry and eat every piece of fruit in the fridge before it goes bad and go to Mass every week and keep a regular yoga schedule and stay on top of my email inbox (AHAHAHAHA) and return my library books on time… all my problems will disappear.
I’m embarrassed to write this because PEOPLE HAVE ACTUAL PROBLEMS and I am being a whiney brat over my inability to meet basic standards of adulthood.
The thing is, I used to be on top of life. When I was a junior in high school, here was my schedule: school till 2:30, gymnastics till 6:30, Dairy Queen till 10:00, AP European History papers on topics such as Religious Wars in the Netherlands (1570-1610) and Their Effect on the Spanish Economy until the middle of the night. Repeat. A few short years ago, I had weeks at the White House where I would look at the clock and realize it was 3:51pm on Wednesday and I had already worked 40 hours.
Actually I am more impressed by that history paper. HONEST TO GOD I wrote that paper. But then I got a crappy old 3 on the AP exam, meaning for all my efforts I was awarded 0.0 college credits, so don’t go being blown away by my smartz. They fake.
HOW DID I DO THESE THINGS?! Because lately the overwhelming-ness of blowdrying my hair pushes me close to tears.
So I try to combat my craziness by being a productivity champ and doing productive human things from my list. Because, ironically, the tasks that stress me the eff out (blowdrying, not a joke) are the same tasks that make me feel WAY BETTER when I do them. Does that make sense? Is that, like, a documented behavioral thing?
Like, here I am: “Another morning with the bl0wdryer? Srsly? It takes forever. It’s loud. I drop it on my foot at least once a week. Every day I discover new and innovative ways to burn myself with it. Test+reset+test+reset+test+reset. Auto shut off. Tediously clean the lint out with a bobby pin. Blow a fuse. I just dried it yesterday morning. And the morning before that. And that. That day too. And that time in 2001. Every day. I just… can’t anymore. JESUS TAKE THE BLOWDRYER.”
But then: “Oh hey look I think it’s dry! I can turn it off! Now my hair is kinda bouncey and cute! For some reason, it’s much easier to get through the day when your hair isn’t a sloppy wet frizzy misshapen disaster mess that makes you want to hide under a rock every time you pass a reflective surface!”
A confusing and vicious cycle.
The thing is: I can’t do all the productive things simultaneously. If I manage to find time to do my hair like a person that makes personal care a priority, I probably have nothing to wear because I haven’t dry-cleaned or done laundry in 14 years. If the plants outside look good and the herb box is well-tended to, the floor inside is probably disgusting and coated in beagle hair. If I’m finding time to write, I’m probably big as a house from not having exercised in 3 weeks. If I am doing a great job cooking and eating well, I’m probably behind at work.
It’s like that schtick with the hydraulics. You plug a leak and it just floods out from another one. Then you plug that one and out it comes somewhere else. Et cetera et cetera et cetera ad infinitum.
My other issue remains, as it always has been, over-extension. The other week my BFF Jordana made the extremely astute observation, which honestly had never occurred to me, that being over-extended with my day job and yoga training and the zoo and everything was sort of the same as when I used to have to work all the time and was stressed to the max over that. And, actually, it makes sense. I LOVE doing all these fun things, and it’s nothing like the misery I used to deal with, but I do need to make more quiet time for myself and I have a suspicion it could be my ticket out of the vicious cycle of always being juuust out of reach of life serenity.
Sigh. It’s hard, because I do know that someday soon, God willing, I will be a mommy and maybe life will slow down a little, and I will have to forget all about my BLOWDRYER COMPLEX and dedicate, devote, sacrifice, prostrate myself at the altar of my little ones’ needs. Which I am absolutely OK with, and prepared for, and would be honored to do. But I’ll want to look back on my mid-twenties and know that I always accepted those invitations and said YES I’d love to grab dinner, ABSOLUTELY let’s go to that baseball game tonight, SURE I’ll have another sangria! I don’t want to have squandered these years in elastic pants making sweet love to the DVR.
BUT that is exactly, precisely what I am doing right now and it’s glorious and therapeutic. I have been home at a reasonable hour, like, 2 of the last 9 weekdays and tonight I made the wise choice to sit at home on the MFing couch, write (obviously, hi), snuggle with Chooch, sip a smoothie, catch up on Idol that I missed yesterday, and generally enjoy a few hours off. Even though I always go to Thursday night yoga, even though there are any number of things I could have stayed at work late to finish. All will be tackled tomorrow.
OK. And now, I go to sleep at a healthy hour! GOLD LIFE ADULT ACCOMPLISHMENT STAR! I feel better having written this manifesto so thanks if you’ve read all the way down to here. Oh, and I truly apologize to you, and to the universe, for my bit about the blowdryer. Writing things down helps me put into perspective the ridiculousness of the things I allow myself to get worked up over. Happy face: