I feel sad. Blah. Uck. Not all of me. Is that weird? Can I be compartmentalized...or does that make me like Cybil? Speaking of- did you hear that the woman, whose life that movie and book was based on, admitted to faking the entire thing? Her therapist was a phony. That rocks my world. I mean, that movie scarred me. Seriously. And what does that mean for everyone else who claims that they have another person living inside their head (besides God or Jesus)?
Anyhoo. You'd never know it if you saw me...aside from the fact that I do look a little more brooding now that my hair is the color of charcoal, with about just as much shine. Thank you hair dresser who must secretly hate me and wants me to be ugly (not my brother, who hates me for betraying him and going to someone else). Yes, I love looking like Gene Simmons from Kiss.
I am happy in parts. My kids. My husband(ish). Blah, blah, blah. Yes, I know that if I listened to Oprah and dusted off my gratitude journal, I'd be like Mariah Von Trap, dancing through the wildflowers on a mountain top, singing at the top of my lungs how wonderful life is. And it is...but there are parts that are not.
Usually parts out of my control. Usually parts in the past that I can do nothing about. Water under the bridge?...like hell it is.
Halloween. Can I just admit that I secretly hate all holidays today. I have done them and loved them for 11 years...and before I had kids. But today, I want to live on an island where they have never heard of Walmart, or trick-or-treating, or cheap flammable costumes. I want to just be. I know I could opt out. I could conveniently go out of town for Halloween...tell my kids "not this year"...yeah, on what planet? I am already the lame parent. I am not about to cement that status in my gravestone by pulling a stunt like THAT.
Christmas- that's a different story. Mexico, here we come! I don't even know if we'll do a tree. It'd be dead as a doornail by the time we got back. Maybe I'll let the kids do one of those fake table top ones. I am just getting tired of it. Sorry Garrett. You will get the deadbeat Mom and never know that my house used to be crafty, and smell of baked goods. I told Shelby yesterday, that it's not that I don't cook. It's that I "cook" breakfast and lunch and Dad is taking a turn doing dinners. I cooked them for ten years, and I felt bad that I was leaving him out. So now I am being nice and giving him a turn...I know, how kind of me.
OK, off to pick up Garrett from the U's childcare. He got to take a Lunchables today...oh the joy for him.