It just needs to be about me for the next few. I really do try to keep a sunny outlook on life and whatnot; I try to breathe in the good/peaceful and let go of the bad/yucky. Everyday, well at least most days, I set aside a few minutes to focus on happy thoughts and tranquil visions. I have my happy places and I really do try to visit them as frequently as possible. But this week I am breathing in more pollution and not seeing the happy place for all the baggage piled in front of it. Maybe it was suddenly losing Angus. Or it could be that this is the ugliest time of year in the Colorado Rockies, all grey and muddy with dirty remnants of snow. Or perhaps it is be this damn cold that has left me without a voice for the past five days. Mothering my brood involves quite a bit of loud voice usage and since I have none? The little effers are running amuck and loving every moment of it.
Whatever the case I am just plain bummed. There are no pleasant visions and the air in my lungs is stale. I am tired and even more tired of being tired. Plus? I am once again getting that niggling suspicion that I am wasting my life away here on top of the hill in the Manor. I mean, hello? I live with my freaking mother. A woman who in my bad moments I suspect thrives on my failures, so it goes to say that she is as healthy as a horse these days. I am not that old, there should still be bright vistas ahead. But instead? I am hanging with my mom. Today we went to a fabric store where she wanted my help picking out samples to recover a couch. And why? Because she already knew what she wanted and just took me along to shoot down my choices. So just to be horrid I picked out a fabulous giraffe print. Jungle is hip this season.
I have a suspicion there should be more to it all than this, these outings with my mom and the two remaining dogs. There should be more liasons with bad boys in hotel rooms at work conventions. There should be more panties mailed to said bad boys in interoffice mail. And if not that then there should be social occasions that don’t involve my mother or her friends. They’re swell gals and all, but…. But really this is just a Saturday night rant that has formulated over a day of watching eight back to back episodes of Grey’s Anatomy, my new obsession. Fortunately I haven’t watched real TV in nearly 15 years and so I can rent entire seasons of trash and freely indulge my lack of social life for hours on end when the kids are with Matt. So it’s entirely understandable that after watching hours of McDreamy and McSteamy that I should look around at the pajamas I have been wearing for the last five days, take a whiff of my sick self and wonder just what the hell I’m doing about it all.