If I stop and allow myself to think about why I surf blogs in general and allow myself to be sucked from one blog to another, then search back through posts and months and months and even years... Searching for something, really, if I think about it.
Seeing the comments about having a baby, wanting a baby, losing a baby, children growing up, all these things... sometimes it makes me smile at someone's joy. Sometimes it makes my heart ache down into the pit of my stomach because some part of me knows, in the "knows" in the core of yourself sense, that being someone's mother is something that has meaning to me. That I'd expected I'd do. That perhaps I'd just assumed I'd get to do and be. To be sitting at pushing 40 and trying to understand this, see how the so called child bearing years have slipped by me and now, still in the twilight hour of logically, healthily, being able to have a child - I can see that it is going to slipstream away from me. I can see that it won't happen. Sometimes, I have calm peace with that - maybe it will in some other form, some day. Sometimes, I have crushing heartbreak about that, something so scary that I cannot even look at it. Sometimes, I have, to quote, furious anger, such fury and resentment because it's "his" fault. It's not, not completely, but by hitching my wagon to his wagon in life, that's the path I've turned down.
Sometimes, it just makes me want to cry. But instead, I squish it away because what can you do? Looking at life - my life - its unpredictablility, its instability, its utter unsuitedness to bringing a child into it - what the hell would I be thinking? Practical, able to self-deny, she wins out on this one, unquestionably.
I read words about people's schmoopy doopy love, their lives and selves broken open by some new understanding of the self, of the world, of what it means to love. I get it but I don't, really. But this too becomes something I question about myself, over and over and over again. Where is the part of me that holds me back from living my flipping life? LETTING GO. Letting go of all the nonsense and living my life.
All these blogs, clicking open in a new tab, reading some other random person's wisdom, perhaps being touched by it until I realize the author is, say, freaking 25 and then thinking - wtf. What am I looking for? I know it, I am looking for some magical combination of words that SAYS IT. That makes me have a eureka moment, makes everything click into place, makes life make sense, makes me see whatever the hell it is about myself and how I walk through the world that I simply do not see.
I look back at this mashup of random crap I've put here and I see things over and over an over again. Sad. Lonely. Disconnected. Shitty candy. More shitty candy. Self loathing in small doses. Feeble attempts to latch onto any shred of feeling empowered, feeling better, feeling different. Different is good, right? In many ways, YES, different is good. Because I am here dreading saying, "no, I don't want to go camping Saturday night," dreading the fucking reaction to that, dreading the part of me that shuts down and just says, fine whatever and puts me last. always always last.
I have a friend who will break her own heart making changes in her life because she is finally at the place where she knows she must. I wish I had her courage, to risk looking into my own heart and figuring out what the rotten root really is in there.
I do not want to be sitting here at 40 typing the same old shit. With a bloated gut full of 3 musketeers mini bars that make me feel sick and frankly did not make life all that much better as I ate them mindlessly. Made me feel better for microseconds as my teeth bit through the milk chocolate, I can say that much.
That's not quite a joyous life though.
