So, I feel like lately, I have been pushed down and then kicked. Every time I try to do something, it ends up in major FAIL.
I have this project lined up (and I wanna do it so I can use it as blog fodder) to make pomanders. I got the oranges and the cloves and the ribbon and the spices. Most recipes call for sandalwood oil to mix with the spices and roll the oranges in while they’re curing. Well, seems like I can’t find it. Sold out at every friggen’ place I have been to. I ventured to our hippie co-op yesterday and they had huge bottles for exorbitant amounts of money. No thanks. While there and trying to park I stopped for a car to back out. He gets about halfway out and realizes I am too close so as I put it in reverse, an older dude in a Prius turns into our aisle. And he won’t back up. We sat there a good two minutes before I put my car in park, got out, and had to literally tell him to back his ass up. The car pulling out could not get out unless we both moved. This guy had the audacity to tell me to pull up and forget about parking there! Not that it mattered because with the car in front of me halfway out, I couldn’t go around. I had some choice words for that man and then was pissed when I got into the store to find the ass-rape prices on sandalwood oil.
I’ve tried to sit down and write fiction about four times over the last week. Something always comes up. Sometimes purely circumstantial things but usually just stuff I always have to do, like tend to children and cook and clean. You know, the old standards. I shouldn’t be disappointed by this since I know this is to be expected but I seemingly am. Is it wrong of me to be pissed off about this? I mean, am I that selfish? Kind of a disappointing realization that perhaps I AM that selfish.
On that note, Ash is still convinced that we should have more kids. On the one hand, sure, what’s another couple kids? (Excuse me while I laugh uncontrollably over here in the corner. Cue tears and wheezing) His point is that every kid is so different and it’s a miracle to see how they grow and change and take after us and not. And he regales me with these imaginary future holidays when all four of our children come to our house with their families and it’s so full of people and love. Ok, that does sound awfully tempting but right now, the last thing I want to do is give up my body again and then have to regain some semblance of it. With running, I will be in better shape for the next go ’round but still. What will it be like after another two kids? How much can boobs sag? How long before it’s simply impossible to get a relatively flat stomach back without surgery? I don’t know, of course, and I am sure it’s not all that bad but I am still completely and totally terrified.
I think I need a vacation. One with no kids or responsibilities or self-consciousness. Maybe to a place where I can hike in the woods all day and go home to a warm cabin with a fire and a jacuzzi and endless plates of food that I love but never get to eat. Yeah, that’s what I want.