I like today. I think it's because today I am not feeling as selfish as I normally do. I'm not thinking 'by back hurts, again', 'I should go work out but probably won't', 'why do I act like I'm lazy? because I'm really not lazy', 'I wish I could see that guy I married for more than 2 hrs. in the evenings and on Sundays', or 'exactly what sounds good right now is not in my frig... ever'.
Today, I don't care about those things. I'm feeling like a kid playing house instead (which I did when I was 19 and moved out with 3 friends, and...eek, two were boys, and....double eek, I married one of 'em). Today, I'm playing "It's not so bad", because, really IT JUST ISN'T BAD AT ALL. My mom loves these square tins that I've been putting together since I was little. I write, "It's Not So Bad" on them and put little memories- movie tickets, postcards, seashells from Alaska, hilarious printed conversations from AIM or Google chat, a piece of drift wood we picked up at the beach in HMB while we were celebrating our 18 monthiversary. I'll keep these boxes for life. I'll probably help my babies make them, too.
Like I was saying, it's probably worth it to ditch self-pity and probably not because someone somewhere has it worse because that just makes me sad again, but because we just should. We owe it to our parents, to our partners, to our blood pressure... One of my friends* recently posted, "If you ran as much as your mouth, you'd be in good shape". Mortality comes with aches and pains and comfort comes with bills and love comes with hurt. You can stress about never getting a say about coming into this blasted place, but in all reality, you were, and probably still are, someone's gift. I'm going to be someone's gift even if I don't shut-up about all the junk, but I'd like to shut-up, it's easier and far more pleasant. Favorite shirts get ruined, husbands get too tired to wrestle, landscapers makes noise on early holiday mornings, someone catches you stealing their joke, and the barista is sweet as hell but always, ALWAYS gives you the wrong drink or simply forgets to put the coffee in it. So, Here I am looking back at what I've written and noticing how many I's are in this paragraphs. We're allowed. I'm allowed. We're allowed to sit in our chonies and write until our heart's content or until the cat is causing the loud, crashing sounds coming from the kitchen, whichever comes first.
*Thanks, Chris Brown, for your unrelenting sarcasm. It is needed like a rabies booster.
