Today I brushed my teeth after 1pm, and not like some perfectly dazzling woman who brushes after every meal, the perfectionist that must exceed the recommended 2x day brushing to maintain her perfectly dazzling smile. I hate her because I wish I were her. No, I brushed my teeth for the first time today after 1pm. This isn’t even that weird for me.
Sometimes, I tend to blame it on how exhausted I am...
7:30am: Hubby wakes me up with coffee
8:30am: Get out of bed, particularly hard this morning because I was anxious last night before bed and had two cocktails before going to sleep. I never want to wake up after having two drinks before bed.
9:15am Begin painting the outside steps. Our house is on the market, and we have these lovely outdoor steps that somehow always end up green and slippery after a bit of rain. With showings of our home happening semi-requently, the idea of an "I slipped down your stairs" lawsuit sounds less appealing than it does probable. So I painted with textured "nonskid" paint. It took two and a half hours.
11:45am Begin washing up
11:45:30am I took thirty seconds to wash my hands before helping serve lunch to the children, and redirecting them/teaching them homeschool lessons. I got them independently working
12:30pm Brew coffee, because the two cups I had with breakfast had long since worn off, and then showered
1:00pm and finally brush my teeth.
Why the fuck am I sharing with you about my oral hygiene? Well, it’s not just that. I was supposed to take my thyroid med thirty minutes before food. I forgot to take it the moment my eyes opened and my husband made biscuits for breakfast, so I took it with breakfast, which basically makes it moot. I’m supposed to take a supplement and two cups of red raspberry leaf tea a day to help regulate my cycle. I’m supposed to take an iron supplement with lunch every other day. Of course, I’m supposed to drink 8 glasses of water. I also have a cream I’m supposed to put on my hands and feet in the morning and night to help my vitiligo disappear because I feel like a leper with these lovely white splotches. I don’t remember the last time I put it on. I don’t remember the last time I took my supplements or had the tea. It’s been at least a week. I have this friend I’ve been helping out with some clinical writing stuff. She always comments on how I have all my shit together. I’m falling apart. I just smile a lot. Sometimes I use big words.
This morning, I asked my oldest son to help me paint. Since we homeschool pretty intensely most days, he said “mom, is this supposed to be art class?” (I said ‘no, this is “how to help mom avoid lawsuits 101”’). As I maneuvered down the stairs we were painting, crawling on my hands and knees, I must have made several comments about how old I feel, because at one point he yelled “mom, 32 is NOT old!” I responded, “no but I’m 33”. He gets angry about how I complain that I’m old. When I think about it, I really don’t mean old, I mean fat. I’m 5’5”. I grew up in an image-centric family. Anything over 130lbs compels me to call myself fat. I’m over 140lbs. My doc says I’m healthy, but I’m not happy with this weight. I’m tired and sore, and my lingerie now only does the magic “make it pokey” trick if hubs has had a cocktail before he sees me.
How did I let it get this far? It’s always something with us. This year has been a bunch of sucky somethings. A failed adoption… which still feels like a scam. A very firm termination of our family’s relationship with my in-laws, for the sake of protecting boundaries that have been violated too many times. A harsh disagreement between my husband and I, about what to do with the space my in-laws used to occupy-- the apartment attached to our house. A final decision to move. A decision to build a new house. Pressure to sell this house quickly so we can afford the other house. The current house NOT selling quickly. Learning that one of my sisters got a DUI, and coming to terms with her alcoholism, which resembles that of my mother, and triggers feelings of abandonment and resentment in my soul. Learning about this DUI from my brother at 2:22am, and watching in subsequent weeks as he enables that sister semi-frequently. Enduring the most massive fake persona from my sister after I urged her to seek help, and stated that I would not do anything that could possibly enable her. Listening to my other sister on the phone, tell me she is pregnant, and that her boyfriend will leave her if she doesn’t terminate the pregnancy. Listening to her make statements about feeling numb as she miscarried, reminding me of my own 8 miscarriages, scaring me away from trying again to conceive. Watching her stay with the man who threatened to leave her and her daughter, and even console him when he “feels sad about the miscarriage” of the child he didn’t want. Respecting her choice not to murder her boyfriend… but slightly disagreeing. Watching my son suffer through ADHD, and struggling to figure out the best course of treatment, before finally stumbling on the perfect treatment and feeling a ridiculous amount of guilt for taking so long to get there.
Now I’m old/fat. I’m tired/empty. I’m sometimes even lazy… perhaps just unenthused. I have this fantasy that I’m Julia Roberts’ character Vivian, in pretty woman… but only in the scene where she wears the cocktail dress before flying in the private jet to the opera. I don’t want the private jet. I wouldn’t mind, but don’t need the opera. I don’t need Richard Gere’s character to validate my worth. I just want to sit somewhere in a cocktail lounge, or better yet- a speakeasy, because of my crazy obsession with the 20s. I want to be pretty, and fit, and feminine, and seemingly in control of one moment in my day. It would be great if my husband were there, wearing a fedora, for no other reason than how charming it would be. None of this will ever happen if I don’t brush my teeth before 1pm. It just won’t. That’s my truth. Straight up.