[Alert: Pity Party in Progress]
My Facebook status currently reads: “Beth is completely delusional in her obviously misguided hope that maybe … MAYBE … something … ANYTHING … will happen to break up the monotony of her life.”
When I begin to feel trapped by circumstance and stuck in the quagmire, my subconscious feels it necessary to begin living vicariously through my dreams. Of course, the prerequisite for this occurrence is actually managing to sleep. Rare, still, for me. But, I have been sleeping a bit and, when I do slumber, I have been dreaming … a lot. Of what do I dream? Well, during the aforementioned “my life is unbearably boring” periods of my existence (which is quite often), I have visions of skydiving and bungee jumping and mountain climbing and abundant traveling … suitcases always packed … consistently on the go … far, far away from a schedule and a desk.
My life, day after day after day after day, is painfully monotonous.
Sleep. Maybe … always hit or miss. Morning. I hate morning. Get up. Kids up. Shower. Dress. Blah, blah, blah … morning things. Breakfast for the little people. Driving … school … work. Oatmeal. Coffee. More coffee. More coffee. Yawn. Check email. Facebook. Blog. Work. Wake up (finally). Work. Work. Yawn. Lunch at desk. Work. Work. Email. Facebook. Write. Work. Yawn. Work. Driving … home. Clean. Homework. Dinner. Clean. TV. Email. Showers for little people. Write. Read. Bed. Sleep. Maybe.
Weekends are not much better as they are consumed by more of the same.
If it was not for the existence of my children … life would be pretty much colorless. I smile … for them. I laugh … for them. The utter randomness of their conversation and our whacked out board game marathons keep me sane along with an occasional trip (30-60 miles away, depending) to the movie theater with the kids or with a work acquaintance when my guys are with the ex.
Oh, and those weeks the crazy dudes are with the ex … excruciatingly humdrum.
I know what you are thinking. Go out. Have fun when they aren’t there. Good thought, that. Don’t you think I’ve thought the same? Alas! I reside in town of not so many people where Wal-Mart or Waffle House is the place to hang out and cow-tipping is considered an actual sport. And, did I mention this is a dry county? I’m not an alcoholic or anything, but this means there are no social hang out type places here. I could drive to Hot Springs or Little Rock. Three words. Single. Working. Mother. There are no funds for self-indulgence.
And, so, I exist. They say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and over again while expecting to get a different result. I guess that makes me borderline insane. Yes, I go through the routine day in and day out. I do not, however, expect new and exciting results out of this existence. Maybe, just maybe, something grand will happen to pull me out of the rut … if even for a moment. Until then, my goal is to get more sleep and indulge in as many extreme dreams as possible.
“You live like this, sheltered, in a delicate world, and you believe you are living. Then you read a book (Lady Chatterley, for instance), or you take a trip, or you talk with Richard, and you discover that you are not living, that you are hibernating. The symptoms of hibernating are easily detectable: first, restlessness. The second symptom (when hibernating becomes dangerous and might degenerate into death): absence of pleasure. That is all. It appears like an innocuous illness. Monotony, boredom, death. Millions live like this (or die like this) without knowing it. They work in offices. They drive a car. They picnic with their families. They raise children. And then some shock treatment takes place, a person, a book, a song, and it awakens them and saves them from death.” ~Anais Nin
[It's safe. I'm done now.]