I feel like perhaps I'm not at my best lately.
Take right now, for example — I'm hiding out in my kitchen stuffing my face at two in the afternoon.
I shouldn't be.
I mean, after gorging on all the weekend food I did the past couple of days, Lord knows I can't actually be hungry.
And what's with the bottle of wine in the corner calling my name asking me if I want to hang out later?
It's a freakin Monday, and I'm not Jimmy Buffet (although Margaritaville or a trip to Anywherebuthereville sure sounds ah-mazing).
You see, at the beginning of the pandemic, I was determined to stay on top of things:
my three kids' e-learning, checking in with family and friends,
and my marriage.
These days, though, well, all I seem to be able to stay on top of is the fridge.
Oh, and Facebook.
Maybe it's that food is a comfort because
I don't have to launder it or tend to it,
it doesn't talk back to me,
and it doesn't complain about doing work.
And Facebook, well, it brings me joy because I remember there are people, life, and experiences just waiting for me beyond my home's dirty-cause-I-can't-find-the-time-or-desire-to-clean-them walls.
But I feel like this is a rut.
That I'm in a rut.
And I feel crappy about it.
I feel displeased with myself that I'm not as "we've got this" and "it's gonna be fine" and as present and full of gratitude as I was back in March, April, and May.
Though I do know that I've got this and that it will all be fine,
it's like I can't scratch the itch that is my desire for things to be more than adequate and to be NORMAL once again.
I want my busy life back.
I never thought I'd say I want to be run ragged each day, but, my gosh, I sure do.
I want to drive my kids all over the county to play baseball, dance, and go to art class.
I want my weekends to be overbooked with family engagements and youth sports competitions.
I want to go to a random Wednesday night concert at our local amphitheater or play indoor family trivia at a local sports pub.
I want to go back to New York or fly to California with my husband for an extended date weekend.
I want my kids to be in school, and I want to get back to going to the gym five days a week.
I want to have time for my podcast.
I want to live how I did pre-pandemically.
I want a strict schedule I can complain about and stress myself out trying to keep.
But then it hit me...
That here I am,
wishing life will 'correct itself,' and that adventure find me,
when nothing about this
slower-placed, home-centric life is uninspiring or boring -- because I'm not.
And that if I'm really seeking more excitement, it's up to me find it, and if I can't find it, it's up to me to generate it --
for myself and my family.
Maybe I'm not 'living the dream' as I socially distance in my
with my no-makeup resting b*tch face,
but I'm smart enough to know that having a fun, loving, and supportive family to go through the monotony with is better than any dream.
'Cause it's the real thing,
they are the real thing,
and it's super real to me now just how important it is,
especially when we're feeling down or weak
-- and absolutely when a pandemic is lingering --
to remember that life isn't about where you go or what you do, but who you're spending yours with.
And if the people you're spending yours with are still loving you nice and good when you're not at your best,
like mine are,
then that's all the reason we need to try to give them and the moments together more of it.
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