Wednesday, July 11, 2012

Read to Pink Floyd.

I haven't written anything beyond the occasional face book status update in many months. You see, sometimes when I say what I'm really thinking at 11:47 on a week night, I wake up at 7:13 the next morning with a horrible panicked feeling- "Did I seriously just admit my Easter Bunny contempt to everyone I know?" "Did I describe in detail my weird crush on Joaquin Phoenix?" What the what? I was kidding- whatever. So harelips are kind of hot. In a piratey sort of way.

Anyways, I have held a six-month long internal debate whether society as a whole is better off with or without my thoughts. And while the jury's still out, I do take comfort in the fact that my influence- for good or evil- is minuscule. Like a tiny little scule. So small. Almost non-existent. So, I worry needlessly. That said, I really don't like Easter Bunnies or any bunny for that matter, cute and fluffy as they may be. A pink-eyed devil tried to take my arm once and I've not met a bunny since that made a good impression. Just think of all the bunnies you know- Playboy, Bunicula, Roger Rabbit, the bunny from "Monty Python and the Holy Grail." Despicable creatures all.

Which does not segue into "I am terrified of the future" like I thought it would. My little girl is starting first grade in two weeks, meaning two out of three of my children will be gone until 3:30 every weekday until they finally grow up and leave me a withered college-dropout with a disproportionate hatred of bunnies (there's my segue!) Although I love to watch my children grow and become increasingly independent, the reality of my eventual uselessness has been crashing down on me like a sack of hot nickles. What will I do in three more years when all of our children are in school and I have eight hours of uninterrupted nothing? The possibilities appear in my head so numerous and loud, it sets my head spinning. The thing to do is go back to school and get my degree, obviously. A degree in what I don't know. Creative writing? Not very profitable. None of my interests have ever been profitable- and if they are not profitable does it warrant a student loan? And all the while that nagging ache in the pit of my stomach- "have I been a good mother? Am I a good mother? Will I be a good mother if-?" Eventually settling into that dull, depressing pain- time's insistent progression- they're growing up so fast.

I am afraid to make them my entire life, and afraid not to. And often afraid that it wont matter anyway if I completely lose my mind. On the upside, some very successful writers have been insane. Lewis Carroll for instance- writing about rabbits, obsessively worried by the ticking of that bloody pocket-watch... 


3 comments:

Anonymous said...

nice Di...and i was just about to write my most famous of all children's books about a bunny. LOL, just kidding...i was thinking tripod boy making origami to escape the boredom of his parent's nagging. LOL...i think mothering is like that ticking pocket- watch...we are ever mindful of its constant progression and our lack of control to stop it...alas, we have a husband for eternity never to be freed from our insanity...hahaha!

Meliss said...

my unsolicited advice: if you ever question the quality of your motherhood just examine your children. They are perfect. Take complete credit for that. Next, not all education can end in a profitable career. How boring would the world be if that was the case. Go learn! It will set your soul spinning and you will love it. Who cares how much it costs. There will always be more money. And lastly WRITE! You are fabulous and I think the world of you.

Ashley said...

I have 2 years until all my kids will be in school all day...I wonder the same things as you. I should probably go back to school and get a college degree, but there is nothing that interests me enough to pay for it.