I want to write; I need to write. But I don’t know what I want to write about.
I am now fighting a head-cold of my own, and I’m not real happy about that. I’m not too much of a whiny sick person (at least, I don’t see myself that way) but I can get pretty cranky pretty fast, and I’m ultra sensitive when my body isn’t working right.
Today I lined up the four other people at my house, and told them I’m tired of washing their dishes. I gave strict orders to everyone that they are to wash their own dishes or put them in the dishwasher. I had special instructions for the kids, and even the Belgian was not left out, as I told him to please use one of the other 4 available skillets besides my nice cast iron for his eggs every morning, as I am tired of trying to scrape egg bits (which disgust me) off my skillet without messing up the beautiful seasoned finish. He looked at me like I was possessed by demons. Maybe I am.
I’m caught in this crazy cycle of hating to be alone, but craving my solitude.
I keep thinking it would be different if the Belgian were an official part of the household (my husband), but I guess I had the same irritations with my ex, too.
I’ve come to realize that I could never be married to him. (Not that he’s asking, mind you.) Maybe I could never be married to anyone ever again. Maybe that’s okay, although I never imagined for myself that I would be a single woman for any length of time.
But as I look to my immediate future and all of the things I want for myself and for my children, a husband is not on the list.
My list includes a house of my own, complete with a garage, kitchen counter space, and outdoor electrical outlets. It includes neighbors that I will grow to love, even if I don’t like all of them, and playmates for my children. I want the adults to tattle on my kids if they catch them doing something they know I wouldn’t like. I want to take them a lasagna when they have babies or when they have a serious illness in the family. I want sidewalks and front porches with nosy people watching the world go by. I want a simple, uncluttered existence with the latest electronic conveniences. I want a fenced yard for my dog. I want new white walls that I can paint any color I choose. I want a garden where I can plant tulips and boxwood bushes.
I want a job that excites me and makes me look forward to getting out of my bed in the morning – that pays the bills comfortably with some travel money left over. I want to work with an incredible team of people who respect each other’s strengths and weaknesses and can pull off unimaginable things because of it.
I want to get my body back into fighting shape. I want to feel solid and strong and able to handle any physical challenge that comes my way. I want that euphoria that comes along with being fit and knowing it.
I want my children to have space to rest… to create… to learn… to grow. I want them to come home, walk in the front door, and feel safe that they can close out the rest of the world if they need to, and that no one can hurt them here. I want them to know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that they are loved.
Do you think Santa can fit all of that into his bag?