I've been contemplating running away from home because my family, yes, my loved ones are driving me to distraction. The combination of endless dishes in the sink, you'd think we were the Waltons, the sound of something like bricks dropping up in Dad's room, Claire, eyes glazed, watching 27 Kids and Counting. Oops, 19.
I shut the door, someone opens the door. The cat looks faint. Everything is parched, brown, dusty. Is my family responsible for this desert motif? Well, yes. And okay, my knees in downward facing dog? Not great. I'm batty.
I am driving me batty.
Where to go?
The library, with Dad and Claire in tow. Dad ambled to the reception desk where he unsuccessfully tried to get a library card; I think you need a passport these days to do that. Claire went in search of a chapter book. I fled up the big stairs to the new book section where I stumbled on,
Bluebird; Women and the New Psychology of Happiness by Ariel Gore
and opened to, "I'd always kept an irregular journal, but as I looked back through those pages now, I was embarrassed by the litany of complaints. In February, I was tired and stressed-out. In April, a friend had spited me. One night in June, I'd stayed up until dawn worrying about my daughter. And in August, I pretty much despised everyone I'd ever met. I'd recorded all the things that made me unhappy, but what made me happy?"
then skimmed and read,
"Maybe, the only thing harder than facing an honest desire is denying it."
last night i mused the idea that because i was raised in an immigrant family, struggle was just simply, part of the daily fabric. so, struggle, unhappiness, blockages, pain....yes, all part of a "healthy" daily life. today, i feel good, life is good, and so i look for the bad because i feel lost without it. it is like a limb that i have grown and somehow need for survival.
ReplyDeletei think something needs to be done about this....
maybe you know a good surgeon?