My kids hate me. And, being that I have no idea what I'd like to do with the rest of my life, my only purpose at the moment is being a mom, and well, we can see how that's going.
It also does wonderful and amazingly brilliant things for my ongoing depression. Nothing like your kids reminding you daily how they love taking you for granted to make you feel all warm and fuzzy about life.
Dee told me the other day that I am the only one who bothers him. Really. And here I was, all these years, pretty sure I am the only one who treated him like his bowel movements were made of solid gold. Silly me.
And Em? Well, I can't seem to do anything right by her these days. I know she's a teenager in all her teenage hormonal angst, and it's normal to hate one's mother at this stage in life, but still, it chafes like a guy's 2-day-old beard on your chin during a marathon kissing session when she gives me "that look", or gives me the silent treatment over what I thought was nothing. Apparently, I was wrong. Again.
I've also been in the throes of grappling with the meaning of my sorry life, trying to figure things out. Such things as: What in hell's name do I want to do with it? What would give it meaning? And how can I do that AND make enough money to keep me in Cheetos and cable television shows? It's a hard question. Especially with my age being what it is, which I know isn't really all that old, but still, I am now fully beginning to accept that I may not be a spring chicken.
I'd love to get back into the whole world of journalism, but the more I think about it, the more worried I get, seeing as the print medium is dying a slow but certain death. Writing has always been my passion, ever since I was a wee child who begged for a typewriter and dictionary (yeah, I was a geek), and it always will be. If I want to try and make a serious go at it, however, I am pretty sure the web is the way to go, and that scares me because (1) I'm old (2) I know so little about the internet and (3) I'm really very lazy and, ultimately, stupid.
I've been doing a lot of research, but it sure is difficult (especially for stupid me) to discern which online web writing gigs are official, and which are just plain scams. Please correct me if I'm wrong, but most of them seem like dirty little scams, just out to grab a buck, or to snatch away your email address and other personal information so that they can then start sending you spam. And if there's one thing I really hate, it's luncheon meat in a can.
And, as if this isn't enough, I had to scoot outside in the early morning hours on Monday, just as the sun was peeking its head out over the houses, because Gryphon ran out of the house and onto the street, focusing on a tiny rat dog that was taking its owner for her regular morning stroll. I would have ignored him but for the fact that the dog's owner was having a heck of a time keeping her
rat dog sane, as Gryphon loomed over it, prancing around and wanting to play. He's not very good at reading body language, apparently. He also wasn't listening to me as I repeatedly growled his name out the front door, trying to sound as threatening as possible.
I knew I had to go out into the snow to get him, and I couldn't find my boots quickly enough, so yes, I went out in my bare feet, in the snow, down the long laneway, to the street, to grab my stupid dog by the neck. I have never, in my many long years in this country of snow, cold and booger-filled noses, walked barefoot in the snow. And I'm here to tell you, although it's not quite as nice as walking in warm sand on a beautiful white beach in Cancun, it's not all that bad. It kind of feels like walking in cornstarch. Very cold cornstarch.
The view from my front door. Yeah, really. Well, it could be. Just squint a little.
The strange thing is, my feet didn't get all that cold. I mean, they got cold, and wet, and I thought it would take the whole day to warm them up, but what actually happened was that, within half an hour, they were warmer than they were when I first stepped outside. What.The.Hell? I'm thinking frostbite, and in another day or so, my feet will unexpectedly fall off, maybe as I'm making dinner. Foot soup, anyone?
So, yes, this is the state of my life these days, as the winds outside howl, the snow gets deeper, and my entire body itches in response to an apparent allergic reaction to new medication. I am one big, cold hive.