An Unexpected Life

A thought came to me, what the fuck are you supposed to do if you can’t eat, pray or love. Hell, I barely have time to pee properly and think if I could only wear a catheter that might facilitate this life a little bit. I eat, but on the run and never with real enjoyment. Usually, scarfing down while I cook or eat my kids’ left overs. I don’t sit down and the minute I do, one kid spills, the other wants more milk etc. I try to pray, I really do but the most connection with God I’ve had lately is when I say bless you when someone sneezes. And as for love, well there’s not enough ink in the world that can fully discuss that topic. Overrated and somewhat delusional if you ask me. Self-help and self-realization books make me roll my eyes, snort and laugh. I can’t get up and go to Italy to learn Italian, or go pray with some spiritual leader and sure as hell can’t go to paradise to find love. So instead, I find myself on the floor or in bed, frequently, in a fetal position, crying in silence so as not to wake up the plethora of children I have. Find the numbness that keeps me going and face each and every fucking day like I have before. Now I know that the current situation I find myself in is of my own doing but at the same time, I’m not the only one. Growing up with a mental image of what my life was going to be like. The kind of mother I was going to be, anything but like my own mother. The love of my life I was going to have. I wasn’t the only delusional one. I feel as though if I was in my 20s again and I would have stopped and looked around at marriage and families, and I mean honestly taken a hard look around, I may have opted not to do it at all. Hell, I probably would have incinerated my uterus. I see my girlfriend in New York, turning 40 next month, single and earning a decent living. Yearning and longing for the hell, sorry, I mean joy, the rest of us have. Maybe minus the being divorced at 35 with 2 kids and broke but she longs to be married and have kids. I try to be as honest as I can and tell her “it’s overrated”. It’s as though we haven’t fully evolved and the basic instinct to procreate takes over. It’s like we’re insects drawn instinctively to the light. Most of us, blindly and instinctively are drawn to this life. Once the kids are here, then you find yourself looking around and saying, what kind of world did I just bring children into? What the fuck was I thinking? Married and then divorced to someone you find yourself saying “I really don’t even know who he is anymore and not sure if I ever really did”. It’s as though you’re constantly in some kind of Twilight Zone rerun and you can’t get out. How could I be so delusional to think this was going to be a brilliant idea? The plan was, you fall in love, you get married, you have kids and wa-la. Life is grand. Why did I think I was that lucky? I frequently play mini movies in my head and I found myself deep in conversation in an interview with Oprah Winfrey. She asked me if I ever imagined my life like this in which, always with my signature shitty vocabulary, respond “fuck no”. I’m sitting on her couch, looking at the audience which is predominately women and know that practically all of them feel the same way. Those, however, that do find marriage blissful and parenting glorious, can just fuck off. Who have I become? I’m angry and half the time I don’t even know who I’m angry at. Could it be my ex-husband who decided at 35 that full time fatherhood and head of household wasn’t for him. My over-zealous sexual habits that got me knocked up for a third time at the age of 39. Dumb ass. Having practically the same job title for 18 years. pathetic. I’m raw. I’m not the delusional happy go lucky mom who thinks her kids walk on water or the one that believes her husband worships her and only her. Now don’t get me wrong, I know I have a lot to be grateful for and I feel lucky in so many ways but at the same time I feel exhausted, disappointed and constantly looking down a long dark tunnel at a very small ever so far light that doesn’t seem to be getting any fucking closer. Many have stated; small kids, 40’s, full time job, pyscho mother, money issues etc. etc. you’re in the eye of the storm, time will make it better, blah fucking blah. I’m not Dorothy and if I were I would be clicking my heels together constantly trying to get out of this whacked dream. I love my children and God knows I would do anything for them. But they are SO much fucking work. It seems as though life is nothing but work and the hope is that it all pays off. Family life is twisted and hard and at times it’s even suffocating. Those that write about how glorious it is and how they have awakened to a sense of pure joy and happiness can again, just fuck off or share the drugs they are on. Parenthood and marriage isn’t for pussies.