I Coulda Been A Contendah
I haven't been a joy to be around lately. I've been short with my family and hiding from my friends. Sometimes the sleep deprivation and other more, uh, womanly factors line up like a one-two punch, leaving me wandering around like a broke-down back alley brawler: two black eyes, a broken nose and lots of anger about all the things that are keeping me out of the big time.
My big time goals are mundane, and attainable. I have been hanging out by the corner store, shadow-boxing and singing my sad song to passersby. What am I looking for? Encouragement? A sympathetic nod? Tough love?
I know I have to get back in the gym and work. The house won't clean itself. Meals must be shopped for and prepared. The kids will create their own society and laws a la Lord of the Flies if I am not an active, interested parent. My husband will lavish his time and attention on the computer if I continue to scowl.
I hate the knowing, when my mind and body still have to accomplish the doing.
Hee! I'm trying to be all serious and metaphorical, and my washing machine just went nuts with an unbalanced load. The banging! And the shimmying! And me, frantic, trying to reach the knob before the behemouth rips itself out of the wall and snaps the hinges off the closet door in the process. Even my *&^#@&* washer wants to get away.
It's a sign. Nothing to say here that can't wait.