Monday, July 26, 2010
People, let's all join hands for a moment and talk about THOSE DAYS we all sometimes have. You know--the BLECH days. They sneak up on you, and before you know it, you're quagmired in one. They're usually preceded by a super productive day. Yesterday I cleaned the house like an unbridled maniac. It looked fantastic. I made my favourite meal: spaghetti and meatballs. I LOVE making meatballs. Very soothing. Anyway, I whipped around with unbelievable efficiency until I was a great sweaty mess. Then, two of my girlfriends came over and we had a lovely time in my back yard drinking fantastic vodka cocktails (pic coming soon). I felt pleased with myself. I had accomplished a lot, and my house and garden looked fab-o-lous.
And then Monday rolled in. I'm super tired. I haven't done the lunch or breakfast dishes yet. They are sitting in cold soapy water in the sink, so it looked like I was about to make an effort at some point, but then PFFFFFT to that. I'm not wearing ANY MAKEUP. Big deal, you say? Well, perhaps you've forgotten a little decade called THE EIGHTIES, in which I came of age, and in THE EIGHTIES, one never freaking left the house without lipstick on. Enh, whatev. I'm wearing my GIVE UP SHORTS: white, elastic waist is almost completely SHOT. I never did my hair either. Then I had a long nap. Then I woke up and felt both yuck, and had a very sore lower back. Yeah, I love the sore back. Lurv it. There's no better way to feel like a broken down wreck than to have a sore back day. Incidentally, I never ever had back problems prior to having my daughter Ella. But that's neither here nor there.
Aren't these days boggling though? I mean, how come one day I am a pillar of strength and energy and the next day I'm 90? How does that happen??? In other news, in my great obsession to track down the root of my fatigue and other mental/physical malaises (ha ha, that sounds very melodramatic), I happened to stumble across "perimenopause" and its accompanying symptoms. Could it be that I'm experiencing the joyful path to menopause? Could it? COULD IT? People, you all know that once again I'm thinking of that idiot pamphlet I got in grade six: "It's Wonderful Being a Girl." Blech, and double blech.
So, I was sitting outside in a lawn chair, wincing every now and then and suddenly an image of me on the couch, as reflected in the full length front hallway mirror suddenly uploaded: big, doughy moon face, triangle hair. Blech. Here was another low point: sitting in the lawn chair and getting my daughter to drag over the one near by because MAMA GOTS A SORE BACK. Holy cow. Okay, so, enough of that. For my own health I'm going to A) make an effort at dinner B) WASH THE DAMN DISHES--ALL OF THEM C) put on some mascara and lipstick, and D)--no, that's too many. I can handle the first 3. I was going to put on some more attractive shorts, but eff that.
** while boiling noodles to add to my leftover sauce (effort dinner, yeah right), I was doing some further pondering of self, and came to the realization that perhaps the mental blech-ness is due to the following:
* the kids were away at their grandparents' for two days, and while I missed them terribly, nobody called me poo head, I slept in till 9 in near perfect silence, I never had to shout; "stop FIGHTING, YOU TWO ARE ACTING LIKE IDIOTS," and I spent most of Saturday afternoon setting up my daughter's doll house so that it appeared that the little cat and bear families were in the living room enjoying a pleasant cup of coffee (and all this while "Twilight" was on the telly! So much fun!)
* it occurs to me that in the past year I have made 600 peanut butter and jam sandwiches, and have stirred nearly 1200 glasses of chocolate milk. Yeah, the numbers speak for themselves.
So, it's all making a little sense.