Sometimes I forget this website isn't a novel I'm writing wherein each chapter has to connect to the last; that there can be pregnant pauses, awkward silences, and sentences that don't get finished. I get hung up on all the time that's passed since I last wrote and feel crummy, and then some of you remind me which I appreciate in an ungrateful sort of way. I feel loved and smothered all at once, which initiates the self-loathing cycle, followed by beautiful bursts of sparkly hope for real, inspired, progress. I can be more consistent, I think to myself...I WILL post at least weekly, not to mention exercise! And I WON'T even buy conversation hearts this year, because I've CHANGED!
This usually backfires; which I blame on the fact that real life doesn't come with its own soundtrack. I mean, don't you think if the above thoughts were put to music (Eye of the Tiger, obviously), I'd be more successful? I spent nearly every morning between my 13th and 18th years lip-synching in the mirror before school, and it totally pumped me up! Who cares if it was Oh Danny Boy, or that it made me so consistently late I actually had to go to school on a Saturday?! And clean with the custodians? At least I was motivated musically.
Things are fine here, if you'd wondered. Time passes, you know? I can't think of anything news-worthy, I also can't actually remember these last few months too well. Today when the barista asked about my weekend and I hesitated, trying to recall, he winked knowingly, saying "then it must have been goooooood, right?"
"Sir," I said, "I am a mother. With insomnia. This forgetfulness is for real, and it might someday happen to you". Then I made my eyes look really big and crazy, in a silly way, to lighten the mood--so he wouldn't swear off kids right then and there, because they really are lovely, don't you think?