I’m staging a comeback.
I fell off the wagon. I buried my head in the sand. I healed. I fought for change. I found joy. I fought against change. I got caught speeding down the path of least resistance. My engine quit. I got distracted by the changes and lost my way on the path.
I spent so much time walking that I forgot to run. I spent so much time feeling, that I forgot to feel. I spent too much time writing words, but never saying anything. Cleaning house and never wiping the dirt away. My shoes got stuck in the mud, and I slipped on the ice. I smiled so much, I forgot to laugh. I numbed pain I didn’t feel.
I spent too much money on groceries, and there’s nothing to eat. The cupboards are filled with food that requires a mind to marry them. And this mind has been sleepwalking through time and space. When there’s too much to do, nothing at all gets done.
But what is there to do, really? What is required, and what is only desired? I made a list one day but it grew and grew and grew and grew, until I no longer wanted to do anything. So I sat and I sat, and I didn’t look back.
I wrote my New Year’s Resolutions about 3 weeks ago but I didn’t finish them, and I haven’t gotten around to posting what I did come up with. Wanna hear them?
I will procrastinate.
I’m not cleaning the house, doing dishes, or laundry, or cleaning up cat vomit, or wiping dog-in-heat blood off the floors. Oh – and forget cleaning the catbox too.
I’m not drying off wet dogs when they come in from the rain. And they’re never getting a bath. Like, EVER.
I’m not running. Nope. Never.
I’m not wasting my time trying to eat better.
I’m not worrying about paying bills. They’ll take care of themselves.
I’m not writing anymore.
And you know what? I feel SO much better now. New Year’s resolutions are a recipe for failure. So this year, I’ve decided to just aim really low. With these resolutions, success is very nearly assured and …. are you ready for this?..... failure is a good thing.
Already I’m on the conveyor belt of life. Last weekend I wanted to hang out and not leave the house, maybe cook something, maybe read a little, do some schoolwork, or take a long nap. Instead, I spent the entire weekend cleaning the rec room and painting doors that looked like Pigpen’s pig wiped its body on them. My daughter took on the role of ass-kicker/personal trainer/life coach this weekend, cracking the whip every time I dared place my ass on a chair. Or took a smoochy break with the hubs. (Every time I get near him, she’d appear from out of nowhere to ask what I was doing. But this – this is a whole other topic for a whole other post.)
And it was like someone slipped me a meth cookie. I was mopping, I was painting, I did dishes, I did laundry, I took out garbage, I cleaned the catbox, I reorganized the storage room, cleaned out the rec room, put “some” Christmas decorations away, vacuumed, made 3 square meals two days in a row, brushed the dogs, fed the animals, stayed up late watching television with Todd, and even … ran a mile with Ava. And still remembered to shower, and took some time out to bitch about the tenant’s dogs in the garage. It was exhilarating. It was fun. It was fucking ridiculous. I even made a catnip toy for the damn cat. The only thing I didn’t do was sew curtains for Ava’s dollhouse.
And Monday morning I felt accomplished and refreshed, right?
I failed at 6 out of 7 resolutions in one weekend. One weekend! And I woke up with a motivation hangover. 6 a.m. came way too early for me, and apparently for Owen – who was obviously suffering from a Warcraft, or whatever the hell video game he’s discovered now, hangover.
But at least I had clean floors to walk barefoot on..well, after I wiped up the blood droplets from the dog in heat. (I could use this space to explain why we have a dog in heat, and that she used to be bred but isn’t anymore, and why we haven’t been able to afford spaying just yet, but I don’t feel like it).
But all I keep thinking about is when I can run again, and about this 7-day cleanse my other brother sent me, and … the cat lying on the floor over there staring dreamily at me like I have a halo around my head. Hell, maybe I do. That catnip is so fresh, he’ll be chewing the doors off the cabinet where we keep his treats before the buzzkill – I mean – his buddy Ava gets home.
She carries him all over the place, puts Christmas jammies on him, and makes him dance on his hind legs. And all the while he’ll be looking at me like, you aren’t really going to let her do this to me, are you? Yet night after night, he sleeps on her bed by her side. He can sleep anywhere in this huge house – he chooses to sleep with her. The least I can do is make a couple of
love toys for him.
So, I’m staging a comeback. I can’t take credit for the theme, though. It belongs to Bitstrips… after I posted a Bitstrip cartoon Me on a running track captioned, “Tara’s staging a comeback.” Because I am. Just as soon as I get off this chair. And after I have some lunch, and maybe just a teeny tiny nap before the kids get home. Because there’s another Bitstrip Me on the track, with the caption, “Tara tripped at the starting line." And because I've stopped making sense. All the sensible people do.
Remember the resolutions, people.