And I could write it in a notebook or a journal thing, but somehow that feels disingenuous.
I had a good day. Meetings cancelled, conference proposal submitted, grading largely caught up. Wrote some words. Went to the library, read a book. (Yes, a whole book, it was short.)
Cooked, picked up kids, usual night stuff.
Came down from tucking in LG, popped in a CD, started dancing in the kitchen and oh-my-goodness-there-it-is--
hit me hard, some kind of unspeakable ordinary sorrow. Not like pregnancy loss and infertility sorrow. More like some kind of existential crisis brought on by some song with a good beat I'd never heard before. Ever.
And all I could think is I need to go dancing, thinking of my 20-something friend who will be leaving in a few short months and how much I will miss her, how much I miss that girl I was at her age, just finishing school, planning on becoming a mom and twelve years later I looked up and I'm forty, tenured, with two children, and oh my word I love them but holy fuck...
I'm not sure quite what this is, but I think it would be better with vodka.
I had a good day. Meetings cancelled, conference proposal submitted, grading largely caught up. Wrote some words. Went to the library, read a book. (Yes, a whole book, it was short.)
Cooked, picked up kids, usual night stuff.
Came down from tucking in LG, popped in a CD, started dancing in the kitchen and oh-my-goodness-there-it-is--
hit me hard, some kind of unspeakable ordinary sorrow. Not like pregnancy loss and infertility sorrow. More like some kind of existential crisis brought on by some song with a good beat I'd never heard before. Ever.
And all I could think is I need to go dancing, thinking of my 20-something friend who will be leaving in a few short months and how much I will miss her, how much I miss that girl I was at her age, just finishing school, planning on becoming a mom and twelve years later I looked up and I'm forty, tenured, with two children, and oh my word I love them but holy fuck...
I'm not sure quite what this is, but I think it would be better with vodka.
Cheers, sister. I'll join you at the bar.
ReplyDeleteOh, yes, vodka improvement is something I dream of too. Especially when the day starts at farking 5 in the bloody morning. And when the baby wakes up at 5 and is perky and smily until the first nap three hours later, I think I am even more depressed, since I am obviously tired and dealing very poorly with all this lack of sleep thing. So yes to vodka improvements. I wouldn't be particularly opposed to some rhum as well.
ReplyDeletehere's to dancing...may the opportunity for it present itself to you in the near future.
ReplyDeleteIt feels like we store memories in those muscles. Mouning a life left behind as the dream of the family took priority seems inevitable. This was never THE PLAN after all. Wishing for some way to fit in the will and joy of young Gwinne with mature one.
ReplyDelete