Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Someday I will do everything right

I sent myself a text message in the middle of the night last night, 4:01am, something illegible about grammar. I have grammar stuck in my head like a song. There is a thought bubble above my head parsing language, adding parenthetical commentary to everything I say. ANNOYING (adjective). It's annoying because I am not very good at grammar. Gerunds and infinitives, predicate adjectives, prepositional phrases... it can be explained to me a thousand million times but in my brain they just won't be pinned down.

Maybe by grammar I am trying to avoid baby preparations because I am reacting in the worst possible way, which is to do nothing at all. I am totally immobilized. I work a million hours and can't convince myself to take any time off. I don't have the emotional apparatus to face down a daunting task, certainly not by putting aside my anxiety and doing what I know needs to be done.

I work four 12-hr days, then two 5-hr days, then a 4-hr day which I don't work every other week equaling two whole, non-consecutive days off each month. I manage to get myself dressed and fed everyday (even if I eat too much sugar, processed white flour and simple carbs. Argh. I even feel guilt when I eat fruit because I eat it with so much voracity that I think that headlight bearing down on me might be gestational diabetes).

But I do get myself out the door. Everyday I quote Aristotle, say to myself that "we are what we repeatedly do..." while flossing my teeth, while shining my shoes for the fat lady. (Today my gums hurt too badly to be flossed which, Internet says, is because my teeth are in rapid pregnancy decay. Oh panic!)

My problem in part is that I don't want to do anything that does not solve the root problem. If my bathroom mirror is dirty just cleaning it isn't good enough because I need to figure out why I keep putting off the cleaning of the mirror to the point of disgrace. IF I CLEAN THE MIRROR THIS SUNDAY BUT FAIL TO ENSURE THAT IT WILL BE CLEANED EVERY SUNDAY HENCEFORTH THEN MY EFFORTS ARE FOR NAUGHT.

So I went to the office supply store and bought a huge dry erase calendar and spent hours making a list of every single task around the house, every.single.one, and now I have to sit down and schedule out the entire next prototype month of cleanliness... floorboards, water filter, cobwebs, chimney sweep... Every single task a household might require be done in a days, weeks, month, or years time. ONLY WHEN MY ENTIRE HYGENIC FUTURE IS ASSURED, ONLY THEN CAN I GO AHEAD AND CLEAN MY BATHROOM MIRROR.

The problem is that every day I barely have time to squeeze in a few miles and a conversation with my husband. The dry erase solution is on a to-do pile along with paint samples, the kitchen remodeling catalog, tax forms, warranties and receipts, baby books, our five year plan, interpreter certification materials, medical bills, and an entirely blank paper with the words BABY NAMES scrawled on the top. And everyday more toothpaste gets flecked onto my bathroom mirror.

Toothpaste that is apparently NOT DOING ANYTHING FOR ME ANYWAY! OMG I DON'T WANT TO BE A TOOTHLESS DIABETIC LADY ON A RASCAL SCOOTER SMOKING AND BALANCING A 92OZ COKE ON THE HANDLEBARS. OH PANIC! (interjection)

Life is so sysyphian. All I do, and do and (don't) do... the universe continues its spiral into disorder. Sigh.

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