Picture me

9.24.2013

Picture me: sitting in an oversized softball sweatshirt and my husband's baggy sweatpants, listening to sad songs next to my heater. A beanie on because I'm cold and to cover my greaseball hair that I haven't washed in 4 days (new record!), my face is bare because makeup and I have a crappy relationship lately, and my bra is off, so now things can get crazy. For some reason I can't find anything fattening in the house, unless you count that stick of the butter in the freezer. I guess I could count that. Butter popsicle? Anyone?

Yesterday I was in such a mood that I wore an only semi-baggy sweater with hearts on it and then took off my bra. Stick it to The Man, or Big Brother, or whoever, you know? Then I went to Target, just to parade my bra-less self around. Not that you could tell by looking....I mean, flattish pancakes don't usually cause too much of an uproar, even if it IS freezing outside. You know what I mean. It wasn't a total waste, because I bought some cute warmish socks to add to my stellar repertoire. I like when my feet are warmish.


It's just been a week. And by a week, I mean 2 days. But it feels like longer....like, a whole hell of a lot longer. and I'm like, can it just be Friday already? I want go away somewhere, somewhere far away, somewhere generic and snuggle into my husband's strong neck in some generic hotel bed with fluffy pillows and a fluffy curly head watching generic cartoons between us while eating cheerios. 

I feel like my life has been full of failures lately. I try, I go out of my comfort zone, I am positive, I do. And then I fail. Do you ever feel that way? As if everything you do is a big huge failure and you're surrounded by people who don't seem to ever fail? Their luck never runs out, they always end up on top, always doing something amazing, something exciting and worldly and smart? I hate those people. My husband is one of them. They don't understand people like us who, for some reason, fail at everything we try at, even when we try really hard. I know. I know. I'm a good mom. I dress cute. Sometimes I'm witty and sometimes I can write decently. But, niceties aside, is there anything worthwhile that I don't fail at? Sometime noteworthy and special that people notice? Being a mom doesn't count. I want more. I want something more. I need something more. This is all rhetorical. I don't need a pep talk or an overly exclamation-pointed comment. It's rhetorical, but do you ever feel like that? I imagine the answer is yes, because it can't just be me.


I'm not the type that needs someone, at least that's what I tell myself. I don't need help, I don't need comfort, I am strong and I don't need you. But times like tonight when I'm at my ugliest on the outside and inside that I crave human contact, but only a certain kind. I need human contact that loves me when I'm like this. I need the human that tips my chin up so he can look at me in my eyeballs and smile his crooked smile and tell me he loves me and then holds me in his strong arms and lets me stay there as long as I need it.

 I, the one who takes care of, needs taking care of.

It's ironic that love does that to you; strips you down and leaves you bare, mostly shivering with need and vulnerability all at once, even when you pretend it doesn't. Love sees you, and that scares me.

Where is all of this even coming from? I don't know. My blog has been anything but personal lately, all pretty pictures and weekend adventures. It's a far cry from what it used to be: a space where I could bitch and complain and be as pessimistic as I possibly could, because I could. I liked that space. I like being pessimistic. It feels real to me, the real me. When I wander far from her, I feel weird and lost. 

And basically, I have nothing else to say, except that if you're feeling the same way I am tonight, listen to this glorious soundtrack, eat two (ten) cookies, and just the realization wash over you that it's ok to feel a little worthless, because at least you're eating a cookie (or a butter popsicle) and at least you're not Walter White, holed up in a cabin somewhere. At least you're not Don Draper, completely alone. At least you're not Jack Shepherd, dying on an island somewhere. Revel in it. It feels nice sometimes.

And now, my human is home, and I need him. 


6 comments:

  1. First of all, you are an amazing writer. Really. Your blog is one of my favorites,and I honestly feel like you could have one of those blogs that *everyone* reads.

    I think in my head I have this picture of you, and it's pretty much just perfect. Perfect face. Perfect personality. Perfect mom. Perfect wife. Perfect style. Perfect everything. So, sometimes I forget that you are a real person. In fact, just yesterday I was reading your Vivian post and thinking that I would probably never be as good a mom as you are. That sounds really whiny, but whatever. It's true. You magnify that calling so well. I would totally be your sister wife.

    Anyway. I don't know where I'm going with all of this. But, I can tell you that I've failed at pretty much everything I've tried (not joking) and I'm not even sad about it anymore. So I guess I don't suck at failing.

    ReplyDelete
  2. This isn't a pep talk or an overly exclamation-pointed comment!!!!!!! Just a thank you for being real. That's what I like about you the most. You're real.

    Last night I cried myself to sleep. Finally. I let it all out. I put my hand to paper and wrote down how I really felt and I even drew a lame picture of a pitcher of water (me) pouring water into an bucket that was overflowing (family). Totally defeated, you know. Emptyish. It sounds so middle-schoolish. So cliche. And I don't even feel better this morning.

    So, yeah. I feel you. Cookies may be in my future today. Or butter popsicles.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Love you!! I seriously need to be your neighbor cuz I made a way fattening dessert, I am feeling like a drag and want to borrow your cute comfy clothes ( we know you still look stellar even when you're trying not too). We could do it together. Ha Miss you! Use your blog to allow yourself to be you at least you can feel "you" somewhere. I love that Elyse. It's who I know and have been friends with since 5th grade! You go bra less all you want girl!

    ReplyDelete
  4. gosh darn girl, you always write exactly whats on my mind. oh, and i ate six cookies yesterday. i wish it were ten.

    you're doing good, lady. sending a big hug via the internet you way.

    xo.

    ReplyDelete
  5. no lie. while reading this i was eating a chocolate cookie, with an episode featuring none other than walter white playing in the background.

    i think that means it goes without saying, but i'll say it anyway. i feel like this too sometimes. i think we all do.

    and now i'll go on listening to this glorious music <3

    ReplyDelete
  6. Well one thing you don't fail at is being you. I love this post. It's so real. I've missed that piece of you on your blog. I'm sorry things are at "butter popsicle" stage... but I don't think you would have been able to produce this post without it. I really hate going through the muck tho... its seriously the worst. And I think its one of those things women have to deal with more than men. I took this "color test" the other day to see how well I am at judging color and I felt pretty good cuz I got an 11 (sale is 0-99 with 0 being the best). Well of course Alden scores a 3. Like what the hell? Men aren't suppose to be good at color?! He always wins.

    Just let your man take care of you and remember that you have a friend who would do anything for you. And now I'm crying.... geeze! Seeing you sad makes me sad. I think this came out kind of pep talky but oh well. Love you lady.

    ReplyDelete

LinkWithin

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...

beard All rights reserved © Blog Milk Powered by Blogger