I’ve been writing in my journal about the same damn things for the past 20 years.
Why can’t I lose weight? Why is the house always a mess? Why am I so stressed out all the time? Why , oh why? Every day I get up, I do what needs to be done first, followed by what should be done (as energy permits), and lastly is the stuff I’d like to see done. As one would imagine, the things I would like to see done, are never, ever, done. Have you heard this one? “Why is it every that every time I get to the bottom of my inbox, I always find the same damn thing?”
It’s time to start at the bottom of the to do list and work my way up to the top. But the universe is working against me.
One of my favorite things to imagine is living in a house that I love. I write about in my journal sometimes, how all the rooms are painted nice calm colors and the furniture doesn’t have to be camouflaged in a way that hides the coke stain or the sewn up tear from the day the dog attacked the cushion.
I also imagine about being a perfect size six. I would never eat standing up, never overeat, and never eat something just because it tastes good. Only true hunger would drive me to the kitchen. In my perfect size six world I open my very clean refrigerator and see Perrier and a vegetable platter for a snacks, rather than moldy strawberries, flat soda and mystery meat.
Oh and I would have no stress. I imagine walking into the house to find a nice clean entry instead of skates, tutus, and computer parts. Do they realize that they all have a room of their own to house this stuff? They do realize it. They choose to ignore it. I live with a fish, a dog, two cats, a guinea pig, a husband and three teenage girls. There are certainly enough humans to help out. In my no stress land they help each other with small things like finding keys or checking the calendar before making plans. In my world there are no cell phones that light up with texts that end with “can I”, or “why not?” At night, in pretend land, I turn on the TV set and enjoy my favorite show at a normal sound level, instead of bumping up the volume so I don’t have to listen to the sister warfare over the missing hair conditioner.
So why can’t I live that life I imagine in my wishes journal? That’s like asking “why can’t I move that mountain?” Because it’s too big and heavy and not what nature intended? Gee Whiz.
This morning I was certain my daughter was going to be home for a while when I returned from the high school drop off. I stopped and got her a Caramel Frappucino, something I never do. I have a firm belief that that unless I own shares of Starbucks, being a customer of their overpriced fancy coffee is just overrated. But I got her one, imagining she took the later train to work and we’d have a little mom/daughter time. But I got home and she was gone. Then, while trying to get my key out for the front door I dropped the $4.75 coffee at my feet. I sent he a picture of the Random Act of Kindness I was trying to complete and then nine texts later after she told me about how she missed the train, and about the injustices of the pay for parking lot and the woeful balance of her bank account, she finally got on the train and then I was off to clean up THIS:
I will not stop fighting the universe to move the mountain. I’m like the little engine that could. Cleaning up the porch is nothing compared to the work ahead of this size six, zen wannabe.
I’ll keep you posted, you keep praying for me.