I’m hiding in the guest room. Don’t tell anyone where I am.
I’ve been so caught up in my own world of writing and perpetual spring cleaning that I failed to notice that it’s President’s Day is coming up which means it’s a three-day weekend, which actually is a four-day weekend because that’s how the Boulder Valley School District rolls. They love tacking on that extra day.
This reality hit hard last night as I considered myself half way through my stations of the cross as a stay-at-home-mom. Not so fast. Then I went to a naughty post-Valentine’s Day party where the entertainment was 70’s porn on constant loop. I’ve seen my fair share of porn but never in a room full of people. I kept trying to position my view away from the TV because that shit is like a train wreck, you kinda have to look. Then you end up talking about it and I don’t want to talk about porn sex with random people. I’m turning into a fuddy-duddy. It put me in a awkward, un-sexy place. Then I came home to the kids locked in one of the worst arguments I’ve ever witnessed.
I’m on a good whine now!
It was purely caterwauling but they were both so amped that it took a while to calm them down so they could sleep. Then I had a really sad dream and woke up and told Zeb about it and he didn’t have a thing to say. No, “That’s a bummer,” or “Geez, I hate it when I have that dream,” or anything. Not one thing, and I just felt alone. It’s common that guys don’t give a shit about dreams but I do. I think dreams are fascinating and this one was (kind of) about him so he better listen up!
Anyway, I’m feeling bummed out. There’s stuff on the porch that people said they’d pick up but never did, stuff that people have contacted me about because it was unsatisfactory (really? it was practically free) and I wonder why I’m doing this. Why do I bother to make stuff available to people, to recycle, upcycle, freecycle, gift and donate? Why don’t I just chuck it all into the trash and be done rather than trying to do the right thing?
My house is totally bombed out, there is stuff everywhere rather than crammed into boxes and under the bed and out of sight where I can pretend my life is perfect. Instead there it all is, right there for me to deal with. Right out in the open.
Then JT emails me that he will be down to 100 items by March 1st and I’m psyched for him but feeling futile about my own odds. Granted, he doesn’t live with his kids and wife, but still. I’ve crossed the 2000 item mark and I feel nowhere nearer to a transformed home and life. I’m certainly not almost two-thirds there.
So now I’m hiding the in the guest-room. Away from the kids, away from the constant work that my house is, away from all my issues staring at me … I love this room, there is nothing that needs to be done in here. I redecorated it to be a short-term rental and it’s perfect. It’s not one of those guest rooms where the bed is buried and the exercycle is ignored in the corner … because it’s in my bed room. I wistfully commented to Zeb, “Why can’t our whole house be like this?” and he (quite insightfully) replied, “Because no one lives in it.” True, but my house is so lived in that there isn’t any room for me.
I’m gonna keep plugging away. In an act of defiance I cleared the porch and hauled everything that has been languishing in limbo to Zeb’s car so he can donate it on his next thrift store run. The hell with freecycle, I’m tired. I need some breathing room. I’m going to stay up here until I hear either crying or silence.
These are martini glasses we donated to the party last night (there are actually six of them). Also out the door was a lovely pair of heels I haven’t worn since before I had kids (and don’t fit anymore) some Christmas beads (trash) and two pillows I’ve retired from my rental. That’s 10.
Featured image courtesy of http://www.brainlesstales.com/2010-01-22/im-burned-out