It has repeatedly been brought to my attention that you people think I should blog more often. I’m not sure that I agree with you, but I suppose it couldn’t hurt. I have no idea what this post is going to be about, but I feel the need to write something since you guys
have been nagging me are so dang persistent. I gotta give credit where it’s due.
I am lazy. It’s a little to kinda well-known fact. I hate the duties involved in being a SAHM. I am also kinda self-serving a lot of the time, so my time is important to me and I prefer to spend it doing things that interest me, despite my housewifely duties. The house is mostly clean, the kids are fed and clean, the hubs is content with our sex life, so I’d say I’m doing an okay job. Now, if only I liked what I do for a day job, I’d be in business.
The kids have gotten less crazy this year, which is a great thing. When we all first moved in together and decided to conduct this lifelong science experiment, things here were less than great. The wee ones fought and injured each other ALL THE TIME. Finn was constantly following Lucas around the house just so he could be sure that Lucas knew how much he disliked his mere presence. This still happens, really. Just not nearly as often. The difference this year is that Lucas has started testing his limits with Finn, and this has proven to be a very explosive situation, but all is well mostly.
So, things should be easier, and I should be more productive. I should be writing more often and should be taking on other projects; like hobbies and PTA meetings and shit. I’m not though. I’m not doing any of that stuff. Quite honestly, I don’t know what I do all day. Time seems to be slipping away from me at a pretty alarming rate these days, and it just freaks me out, so I think my remedy is to sit still a lot. Hoping that time slows down a bit.
This has been an issue for me since I was a teenager. Time. It freaks my freak. Some people will say that it’s an illusion, and at times, I am inclined to believe so, since we can’t see it and really have no proof that it’s there, other than the fact that it ages us and everything around us. It destroys things that were once vital and full of energy and hope; and it scares the shit outta me.
I think my inactivity is due to anxiety over not spending my precious time wisely. I worry about wasting time, but it’s really mostly what I do. When I am actually doing something useful or entertaining, I obsess in my mind over how much time it’s taking from my free time to just be. Be what, I don’t know, but I like to just be. It feels safe.
This song about sums it up.
So yes, I have spent entire days on facebook, just reading posts and watching videos. Reading blogs by amazing writers that I am both envious and jealous of. Writing is something I used to believe I might actually be good at, but I am under the impression that if I were a good writer, I’d write more often. I should be inspired and the words should just flow sometimes, right? I think I’m too weird, depressed, random, distractable, lazy, tired, crazy, smelly (whatever. pick one, they all fit) to be a real writer.
I mean, how did I get to this point in this post? What kind of fucked up train of thought brought me from ‘I’m writing to appease my adoring fans’ to ‘I’m a depressed weirdo who sits around all day rambling nonsense and talking to herself and smelling of dead things’? We do have a shower. AND indoor plumbing. Hell, we have TWO showers. Laa dee daa! But I somehow manage to avoid them for days at a time, because I have zero motivation to be be godly. (Get it? Cleanliness is um…yeah. Nevermind.)
So, what have we all learned here today? Well for one, we’ve learned that I am a crazy, lazy bitch who writes a shitty blog that serves no real purpose, other than to satisfy the masses. (ha. ha. ha.)
We have learned that my house is mostly a mess, because I spend my days facebooking and reading. We learned that my kids are crazy, but a little less crazy than they were a year ago. Or maybe I’ve just learned to handle the crazy.
We also learned that I am time’s bitch. I cower at it’s feet. I want it to just leave me alone, and let me be. Just once, I’d like to go an entire day without being struck by the irrational fear that I have of dying. That would be great. Heck, if we got it down to just a couple days a week, I’d be happy. Living in constant fear of the inevitable is just dumb. Trust me. (although, I’m not sure why you would)
Thank you for reading and for
nagging encouraging me to write. I do appreciate it. Maybe one day, I’ll actually be good at it.
Smelly and tired,