Have you ever been so goddamn lazy that you get sick of yourself! That moment when you’re so pissed off that you’re yelling at yourself in the mirror to the point when even the family dogs are looking at you like you have officially gone bat shit crazy…(by the way, is B A T S H I T one word or two…. leave a comment below).
Anyhoo. thus has been my life for the past 7 months. No, wait….12 months. No, wait…going on a year and a half. 18 months. Not that I’m counting. Meh.
That’s when things took a turn in my marriage. Ever spend a decade of your life beating a dead horse* Banging your head against a brick wall* Yea, it’s like that. When you have given so many Do-Over passes that you eventually ran out of paper. The fat lady is tired of singing. The lights have been turned on for so long, you need to go somewhere else but you can’t stay here.
Now you have that song in your head. You’re welcome.
Yet it’s not the disillusion and breakdown of my marriage that I mourn, it’s who I use to be. And the fact that I’ve allowed it to take me from something that I love the most. Blogging. You guys. That release, rush and fulfillment that I got when I therapeutically put my thoughts down, and the thrill to know that some of you actually relate. That I’m not the only person feeling like this, have experienced something familiar that you can empathize or at least sympathize with. And if we could help each other in some random way, then hell. It’s all worth it!
I’ve spent the last 18 months being lazy. Taking 3 hour naps. Living in yoga pants, bathing only when necessary. Primping my hair and makeup on the minimum. Schleping through The Jewel wearing my Minnetonka slippers in a daze because I don’t sleep in peace anymore. My nightly routine has turned me into a goddamn rotisserie chicken. Every hour, flip-flip-flip-flip. Full time parenting two children to the point when I begin to call them by the dog’s names.
The mind is gone. Sanity is scarce. The yoga pants are 4 days old. Don’t judge.
But today was different. I got sick of being sick of myself. So I actually cleaned up and put on real pants. Skinny jeans that make my ass look great. I threw on a V-neck black shirt that flatters my ta-tas. Add a grey wraparound sweater, carefully put my hair up in a chic “messy bun” and slapped on some lipstick.
And ya know what…I felt so much better. My attitude changed, allowing me to freely smile and laugh with the kids. To feel slightly pretty. To feel good in my own skin. I need to put those big girl pants on more often.
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