The words felt like big chunky things stuck in my throat. So when I dislodged them, they fell so hard out of me, they broke a dam. Tears rushed my eys.
"I feel so desperate," my head hung down in the yellow light of the kitchen, "I feel so desperate for time alone." The whispered words raw against the darkness framed in the windows. I could barely look at you.
"I'm running on empty. I feel so out of gas that even when someone takes him. I'm so far below 'E' that it doesn't even change it. I still feel so in need."
The truth made me feel ashamed.
I went to the bookstore the other day. I used to browse for hours, a kind of lazy meditation. This time I whizzed passed the random sections that used to amuse me, in lieu of what I came for: Reprieve via the Parenting Section. I have no time for languid browsing. Another thought: To mourn this is a waste of time.
The past is the past. It IS a compilation of memory and our feelings about those memories. It no longer exists.
The future is an illusion. F**k the future. I can not sit around waiting for my babies to grow up before I start living again.
I choose to live in The Now.
But how? My spirit is limping.
I imagine myself posting quotes on my mirror (and I'm paraphrasing here because I don't feel like googling these exact quotes so here's my approximations):
"the measure of a man is not how he does during the good times, but how he reacts during the challenging ones"
"think not of all the ways something can not be, but instead think of all the ways that it might be"
"think not that something is a hindrance or a problem, but instead as a challenge."
I do not tack these on my mirror though. Instead
I buy a book called "Buddhism for Mothers of Young Children." I'm thinking (praying) a little spirituality might keep me steady. I read it in the bath. I cancelled all my Real Housewives shows on my DVR. I am looking for the time. I played Pandora all day today and felt better, a soft guitar makes pouring the fresh pureed carrots into the blue ice cube trays seem poetic and light. I try to rearrange my thinking: Every moment is a moment for me.
Dax holds me in The Present. He requires me to be there almost every second. It's exhausting. It's exhilerating. It simply IS. And it IS NOT changing. I've never been in a tough place that I didn't want To Leave. This parenthood thing. This is different. I don't want out. (Obviously).
But...if I am to come out of this thing buoyant and glowing...
How can I stand the standing still? The most precious pain of The Present?