I don’t know how to start this post. I’ve been feeling confused and fulfilled, satisfied and restless, and alone and lonely the past couple of weeks. Thanks to the horrible phone reception I’ve had lately (thanks for nothing, Sprint), any phone conversation I’ve tried to engage in – meaningful or otherwise – has been choppy and ultimately dropped, leaving me, as they say, sitting on my balls. It feels like every part of me is dissatisfied in some way and I’m just tying these fragments of myself up in snug scrub pants, pulling an oversized top over it all, putting a bobby pin in my hair and wearing a smile that keeps the broken pieces of mirror from dropping to the floor.
I miss Madison and having a better-paying job. I miss working out and feeling cute and healthy. In all honesty, I miss having Z to myself. With so much family around I’m often left home while he visits with his brothers or goes out with them in the evenings. Being home at night alone is nothing like being home at night with a sleeping baby. I miss having some sense of accomplishment. I miss feeling like I know who I am and what I’m doing. Is life about creating yourself or finding who you’re destined to be? I feel like the answer to that question could solve all my problems.
I haven’t shared these feelings with anyone else because when spoken they sound like the ravings of a pregnant woman with only one pair of pants that fit. The superficial stuff is getting to me. But, if I try to tell Z that doing the dishes and cleaning the house are superficial things that I’m not to be bothered with he doesn’t buy it. I buy it wholeheartedly while pitting those damn dishes in the dishwasher for the umpteenth time today. I’m moving back into that dangerous territory of comparison, that devilish Facebook trap of whose life is more put together and polished than mine. I’m hurting myself is what I’m doing.
It’s not a safe stew that Junior is cooking in right now. What flows through my body feels incomplete and unhealthy. I try to imagine peace signs, green planets, peace, and kindness flowing to him, but when I’m not specifically visualizing those things for him I’m pretty sure he’s just getting sharp, spikey hormones and an overabundance of Chocolate Cheerios. Hopefully I’m wrong, but he environment he’s in is nothing like the one Connor was cooked in.
I’m not sure what to do with and about all this. I have a dinner date with a friend tomorrow night and I hope to not vomit this all over her and our nice meal. I think finding time to read or working out or meditating would help, but I have my organic chem final coming up and I’m stressing because I’m posting this (and cruising the web and watching tv and cleaning) instead of studying. Today my boss asked me if I was “zen.” What does that mean, exactly? If Zen is the stillness in a whirling world, I don’t know that I can ever be that. If Zen is the peace amidst commotion, I’m afraid that’s against my nature. I rise up with the storm and get taken away on its gusts. What is Zen? Even though I’m doubtful of its existence, I feel an acute need for its presence in my life. Until that happens, I think I’ll have another bowl of those Chocolate Cheerios.