Why I Am

Invariably, there comes a time when I am irritated with EVERYTHING and feeling rather maudlin and hopeless. I start thinking how awful everything is! Everything! But see, it all comes INDIVIDUALLY, so I don’t see that I am feeling this way about everything, I only see my irritations in isolation. So, for example, I will spend several hours bemoaning the fact that I miss Jennie and life is unfair and awful because I don’t have a nanny at my beck and call, or have Sam in daycare so that I can just whip off to see her every weekend. And then I get irrationally pissed off at her because she lives in Texas, and why so selfish, Jennie? What’s wrong with Boston?

And then she goes and spends the weekend with Elizabeth, who I have loved for years and never met (!) and I am a WELL OF DESPAIR. Then I also apply this to Lawyerish, and I think about how her husband hates the Red Sox, and thus would never move to Boston, and I want to burn piles of tiny bespectacled dolls in Yankee hats in effigy, and not in a good-natured way. And then I feel ridiculous, because I love Joe, and why am I burning Joe Dolls?

All this is before we’ve even GOTTEN to Kate, who used to live ten minutes from here, but now lives in Vermont, and it’s BULLSHIT. I AM FUMING.

In isolation, this seems understandable — I miss my FRIENDS, right? But then a day or so — or say, HOURS — later, I start brooding over something else, and I find myself slamming the dishes around the kitchen, because do I have to do EVERYTHING around here? Why is my husband being so LAZY? Why AM I DEALING WITH EVERYTHING?

Then! Then later! I find myself getting paranoid about yet another thing, like whether I said the wrong thing or is that song about ME, CARLY? WHY DOES EVERYONE HATE ME? And then! I talk to a friend who works full-time, and I find myself SEETHING WITH JEALOUSY over an upcoming business trip she has! TO CLEVELAND. And I am almost in tears because I WILL NEVER GO TO CLEVELAND BY MYSELF.

(Note: I have never wanted to go to Cleveland by myself. Oh, and my husband does a SHITLOAD around the house, to the point where he tells me I unload the dishwasher wrong and he’d RATHER I DIDN’T DO IT AT ALL.)

And then I look at the calendar and see that I’m on, say, DAY 27 up in this piece and everything is illuminated.

***

What does come out of this that is valid is that sometimes I DO get frustrated with my primary job — that of being a mom and, uhh, household-running-type person (I WILL NOT SAY HOMEMAKER). I am fortunate — thrilled, even — that I still freelance, but that rarely comprises the bulk of my day, and sometimes it is exhausting to have no real measurement for success, you know? I don’t even know what my performance review would include, in terms of parameters. Some ideas:

1) How many days has it been since you put your daughter in time-out?
2) Did she eat anything besides cheese today?
3) Does she regularly share her toys? (Yes, even Brobee.)
4) If a stranger took a broom to your floors, exactly how much dust would they kick up?
5) On average, how many days a week does your family have clean underwear? Do they have their choice of socks?
6) Rate your toilets’ cleanliness. Are they generally Spotless, Very Clean, Clean, Passably Clean or Not Clean At All?

You see how this could be a bit … discouraging, yes? The success or failure of my day is largely out of my control, because if she’s in a bad mood, there is no sharing and there are many time-outs. If she doesn’t nap, my floors languish in dirty piles and Adam has no clean underwear, OR he has to do the laundry himself, which is not something I enjoy, because then *I* can’t find my clothes and then I’m bethonged and unhappy and … well, it’s obvious where a level of FUTILE DISSATISFACTION could rear its ugly head in moments of hormonal duress, yes?

Bah, never mind. I’m happy with my life, but there are moments. MOMENTS. MOMENTS WHERE I WANT TO GO TO CLEVELAND.

*Dave Matthews Band

48 comments April 6th, 2011