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Wednesday, September 24, 2008

Quarter-life crisis

So I'm having a quarterlife crisis. Not a mid-life crisis, as that would mean I was only going to live to be 54, and the thought of that saddens me. I can honestly say that I can picture myself living to be over 100. I once heard that you will only live to be as old as you can imagine. Seeming as how I can visualize myself as a very old (but very hip!) lady, shrunken in size, hair as white as can be, sitting on an old front porch with one of my twenty cats on my lap, I know that this is only a quarter life crisis.

What happens during a quarter life crisis you ask? I'm guessing that it is completely opposite than a midlife crisis. I've always thought of a midlife crisis occuring when someone wants things to be the "way they used to be". Most men by fast cars, and it's the stereotype that they will begin dating, or hoping to date much younger women, dying their hair, and reliving their youth, all in an attempt to be young again. For women, on the other hand, I think a mid-life crisis is brought on by our own genetics and biology, triggered by the dreaded M word Menopause. Along with the physical attributes of "the m-word", women find themselves with grown children, empty houses, and a husband that they barely know anymore. I've known many women at this time that fear the thought of their husbands not being interested in them, now that the kids are no longer around.

Well...let me assure you that this is NOT the crisis that I am experiencing! However, I do feel as though the two are intertwined, and I fear if I do not have this current crisis, I will never have the mid-life crisis (which might not be a bad thing). You see, to have my mid-life crisis and wish that I could be "the way I used to be", I have to have a crisis to find out just who or what it is I am being. As a wife, a mom, an employee, and a student, I forget what it means to be simply "Jess." I don't remember what music used to make me shake my ass, what show made me cry, what outfit made me feel beautiful, or what flower made me melt. All of this, leading to my quarter-life crisis.

Back in the day, with every new relationship came another new hair style. When I suffered a bad breakup, I chopped my hair off. Today, being (99 % of the time) happily married, I chopped my hair off for a "fun change". I hacked off the "mom" hair, for a hair style that is supposed to remind me of how much fun I used to be. Along with this, is the urge for costume jewelry. For those of you that know me, I have never worn this, as my family owns a jewelry store, and I have only ever had the "fine" stuff. So...new "fun" jewelry = hip and in style Jess! (or so I hope) Now comes the music. I started surfing the radio, waiting for a glimpse of what I like, only to find that I like almost everything.

I'm reminded of a Julia Roberts movie, "Runaway Bride". Julia's character could never settle down, and it took a reporter to point out that she always morphed into what her "fiance's" wanted. I can see a scene in my head where the reporter asks each ex-fiance how Julia's character liked her eggs, and each had a different answer. That's me...always choosing the eggs that those around me want, never taking the time to try out all of the eggs to find out which type I crave. That sums up my quarterlife crisis in a nutshell..not an egg shell, but a nutshell... what do I like? Who am I? Who do I want to be? Am I scrambled, poached, or hard boiled?

I'll get cracking on that right now.

Friday, September 12, 2008

The longest ten minutes of life

It's almost 5:00...I say almost, but we all know what I mean! It's almost time for me to shut off my computer. It's almost time for me to gather my purse, my keys, my travel mug and go home for the night. It's almost time to forget the piles that have accumulated on my desk and it's almost time to ignore the phone when it rings!
It's almost...It's almost the longest ten minutes of my life. Everyday, the clock slows down to the speed of a turtle with three broken legs and a fifty pound shell. The second hand stops clicking every second and drags along every other second. Why is this the slowest moment of my day?
Why is my 30 minute lunch break the fastest? Why does the damn second hand jump ahead as if it has just consumed twenty cups of my grandmother's famous coffee, that is still brewed in a perkilator. Why does it skip seconds at a time, only to make lunch hour seem long enough to get up from your desk, heat up your lunch, and realize that before you had time to take five bites of your lunch, you have to go back to the time-clock?
It's almost 4:54, only 4 minutes have past, and I haven't yet given up the fact that sometime soon the clock will read five-o'clock...but then you know what happens...my keys are missing...I left my travel mug in the sink, I need to pick up the stack of tupperware that I have left after two weeks of bringing lunch...I still have to clean up my desk, hide the items that are confidential, pick up the fifty pens that I have used in the day, because each time I needed one it was covered by a piece or a stack of paper, so I reached in my drawer and grabbed yet another. I still have to punch out, I still have to say goodbye to people as I pass, I still have to get my umbrella up and running and walk to my car. By the time I get home, it's like 5:35 and I only live two blocks from our office...why is that the second quickest half our of my day?

The hole

I've got this hole, this hole that has invaded my day and my mind. I keep reminding myself that is a small hole, easily fixed if I would give it the attention that it needs, but I'm so irritated by it, that I'm not sure it deserves my thoughts.
We all have these holes, that take over our thoughts and our lives. Some are bigger than others, I guess, depending on your own individual situation. Mine annoys me...not for the mere fact that it is here, and that I have noticed it...but for the simple fact that I have unconsciously tried to fill it's void. The part of me that has tried to fill in what this hole has left open, is now red and burning with the extra effort.
I know that there is a way to fill this void without the uncomfort is has put me through, but I'm not sure that I can handle it. Maybe I won't be able to strain myself enough to complete the task, maybe my hands will shake with fright at the thought of sewing this hole up for good...
Or maybe I should just throw these damn pair of socks away...I am sure then my big toe will feel so much better!

A Pounding

I hear a loud pounding. It's strong and it's steady as it creeps closer and closer to my door. I try to escape the solid rapping, unaware of who could be calling on me this late at night. I turn down the hall, prepared to act as if no one is home, when I realize that the pounding is following me. Into my bedroom I quickly go, seeking comfort under the thick layer of warm blankets that keep me wrapped so closely to the man I promised to love my entire life. The bed is so empty without him there and I find no relief without the heat from his strong arms around me.
The pounding continues to get stronger...louder...stronger...louder. It has attached itself to me life a late afternoon shadow, that I can't seem to lose until I make my way under a strong shady tree, breaking me from the fire of the sun, and relieving me of the burden of the dark stranger who had clung to the souls of my feet.
I know that I can not escape the powerful grip the pounding has on my body and i decide to face the unknown. Could it be that this pounding is inside of me? Could it be the sweet yet small sound of my unborn child, awakening my soul to the beauty of a family? Is it a pounding in my head from the tasks of the day and the need for rest in the night. Why does my heart feel as though it has been torn from my body only to fight for its return to the safety of my chest? This is the pounding...this is the noise that alarms me so often when I am left alone. The pounding that begins so soft and low until the anxiety builds and the worry escalates until I finally cry myself to sleep praying that he will again return to our bed, return to the mound of covers that await his sweet smell, return to the woman who lives her life to love him.
There is a noise outside, a pounding you might say. The panic races through my blood until I can no longer avoid the question that has plaqued my thoughts so many nights before. The twist of two metals as they clasp tight to one another, can seem so innocent, can seem so beautiful, when you wait for a loved one to arrive...or they can tear down your walls and in an instant tear apart the haven that you have worked so hard to build. I rush to the window praying that it's not me they have come for, praying that they will not begin to pound on my door, praying that tonight will not be my night, my night to be the most feared woman in the world, my night to have my heart shattered.
The car door closes tightly across the street. I watch from the window as a picture-perfect family pounds on the neighbor's door and as the most radiant smile beams from behind the crack left when the home's entrance is exposed. Open, the door swings in anticipation of its guests, and once again, my prayers have been answered, this was not my night.
Hours later, wrapped in the layers of cloth that adorn my bead, the pounding begins once again. Quickly, my heart begins to race as I begin to sit up. The only light is from a street lamp outside and the mounds of blankets begin to detect their comforting heat. The pounding is soft and soothing. My heart fills with joy and my eyes with tears. His warm, strong arms wrap around me and the beat of his heart is pounding against my back. Again he has made it home to me, and our souls begin to pound...in sync with one another, as if our hearts beat as one.

The road to perfection

As humans, we are all striving for one thing. Perfection! We want perfection in our lives. We want the perfect figure. We want the perfect job. We want the perfect home, and of course, we want the perfect relationship.
As children, our lives are filled with this over-whelming sense that nothing could be better. As children, we no no-better, and every day is exactly the way we would dream it to be. Our friends are the best, our parents can do no wrong, and we have yet to learn that we have the ability to "want" more.
As teenagers, are world is shattered when this need for perfection takes over our every thought, our every move. Our appearance becomes the center of our universe with the rest of our world revolving around it. Every dream we have, every item we desire, can only be attained if that central being reaches perfection. We focus on our clothes, we struggle with our hair, and we unknowingly let our inner-selves lie dormant for the next few years.
College comes and we want the perfect grades. We want to go to the perfect party, and wear the perfect outfit, to meet our perfect match. Most of us walk around, truly believing that we are being "ourselves", blessing those who come across our paths with our presence and our unbelievably perfect mind.
Reality hits when we find ourselves sitting in tiny apartments, working over-time in a less than perfect career, with no time for a "perfect" party or for the "perfect" friend. Others have sat themselves down in "common" life, a marriage, a home, a job. With this reality comes less-than-perfect mortgage payments, cars breaking down, alarms going off in the wee hours of morning, and the constant fear financial failure.
Then one day, we sit down, we look at our computer screen, and we read the words that we typed. Knowing that they are all true...and that this idea of "perfection" is only in fairy-tales. Only in the movies that adorn the big screen, with romantic endings, lavish homes and large paychecks.
Then again, we glance across across our family room, past the hand-me down coffee table, and the couch that doesn't match any other piece of furniture, and we cast our eyes upon the old recliner. There sits a man who vowed to love us for the rest of his life, in good times and in bad. There he sits with our brand new little girl in his arms, and a bright pink burp cloth on his shoulder. In this quick glance, we have found the ultimate "Perfection"

Shaking

I can't stop shaking.
I can hear my breath quicken with every inhale and every exhale. My teeth start to rub against eachother, the bottom of my jaw lifts up and clenches against the top.
I can't stop shaking.
My muscles are tightening and my back is beginning to ache. My legs are bruised from ealier in the week, when the shaking began. My elbows quickly hit the top of my thighs as the shaking overwhelms my arms. My skin is tightening, and the skin has begun to dry, flaking into pure white strips.
I can't stop shaking.
My thoughts even begin to shake, confusing themselves with others. The shaking is invading my mind and I can't stop it. What is going on? Why can't I concentrate? Why can't I stop shaking? Was it the bad dream I had last night? Is it the overwhelming exhaustion creeping into my veins? I don't even drink coffee, yet I can feel every ounce of blood runnig through my veins, every ounces bounces back and forth, causing the veins to shake. I can see them, I can see them moving, up and down, back and forth.
I can't stop shaking.
Should I call the doctor? Should I call my husband? Should I call for help?
Oh..maybe I should plug in the space heater...it is pretty damn cold in here! Damn Winter!

An affair to remember

I know I shouldn't feel this way, afterall I'm a happily married woman. But the tingle I get everytime I hear that familiar sound, it sends chills down my spine.
It happens almost every night, when my daughter is in bed, and my husband is off to work. Something that I know I shouldn't indulge myself in, something I shouldn't enjoy so much. Afterall, I spent 27 years of my life, not knowing how this felt, it isn't too late to turn back. What would I do if my husband found out? Would is feelings be hurt? More importantly, would our marriage suffer?
The scent always lingers, even after the delicate moments have passed. The temperature rises as the steam fills the air and my forehead begins to feel damp as the humidity that we have created dances with the wisps of hair that have fallen into my face. I suddenly lose my breath, gasping with the whisper of an "oooh" and an "ahhhh". I close my eyes to relish in the moment, the short moment that will pass as quickly as it came, sending me back to my reality. I have never felt so alive as my eyes reopen to see the most beautiful sparkle fill the room. I find myself longing for the sparkle to diminish only because the anticipation of another night like this fills my head with fantasies that I would only share with the other woman that I know would understand. The other women that spend their days raising children, cleaning their homes, working full time jobs, and wondering at night, "what happened to the girl I used to be".
I brush a hair away from eye and realize that it is time to straighten up, my husband will come home soon and I can't let him find us like this. Locked in a gaze of bewilderment, a gaze full of passion and thankfulness, a gaze that must soon end. I am indebted to this feeling, for it makes me feel free, for that small window of time after the sun has set and the stars have begun to light up the night sky, I am carefree and fearless, without a worry on my shoulders.
I shut the door as he retires for the night, a night to remember, an affair to remember. I get ready to greet my husband when he comes home from work, and dream of the affairs yet to come, the next night that I will spend in my bed, with my Kenmore Ultra Quiet dish washer steaming up the kitchen down the hall, afterall, I am a happily married woman.
yeah, yeah, I know...I'm a dork, but when you used to spend midnight every night cleaning up dishes, you would get this excited about a new dishwasher, too!

When a pancake was just a pancake

A pancake used to be just a pancake. Light and fluffy with delicious syrup running down the side forming a pool onto the plate. Sometimes they were perfectly round, other times their edges would be folded, thanks to the anxiousness of flipping them over before they were ready. But a pancake, was still just a pancake.
Occasionally a pancake became a little more. Sometimes filled with Blueberries, sometimes made into silly shapes, mickey mouse ears, hearts, and for the few lucky kids, in the shape of the hungry hungry caterpillar. But whatever shape, form, or taste they came in, a pancake was still just a pancake
Then comes the day that a young wife makes pancakes for her new husband. A skill that she has taken for granted until this very moment when the only man in the world that she hopes to impress, patiently waits at the kitchen table, watching her every move. She follows the directions perfectly, although they are as simple as adding water. She mixes the batter until it smoothly flows out of the bowl and onto to skillet. The batter immediately begins to bubble, signaling that it will soon need turned over. The young wife gets lost in conversation with her new husband as the pancake screams for attention. It isn’t until she notices the expression on her husband’s face, that she realizes her pancakes have burnt. A pancake has now become a disappointment.
Then of course comes the time when a new husband decides that he must make his young wife suffer for this accident for the rest of their lives. He carefully forms a plan and vowes to follow it every weekend for the rest of their lives. Saturday comes and when he finally gets out of bed, he immediately asks his wife, "where are my pancakes". She bursts into tears, and a pancake has now become a lifelong joke.
Finally, after many weekends of avoiding the topic of pancakes, their infant daughter refuses to eat her cereal. Not knowing what else to feed her, the young mother quickly whips up a batch of pancakes, assured that her husband will continue sleeping through the morning. They are golden, light, and fluffy as she lays them onto the pink princess plate. She cuts them into tiny pieces before drizzling a light layer of syrup over top. As her daughters small fingers grasp her first piece of pancake, the mother grins from ear to ear. As the pancake makes it’s way into the little girls mouth, her mother dreams of the shapes she will make them into, as in the distance she hears the familiar voice calling out, "where are my pancakes?" A pancake has now become a reason to smile!

Pure Hatred

Look at them, across the room together. The perfect pair, the complete package. They each are the ideal compliment to the other, as if you were to separate them, the other would cease to exist.
Just being in the same room with them makes my stomach turn. They are glaring at me, knowing my disgust of their presence. They're snickering. Snickering at me knowing that I will have no choice but to acknowledge them. No choice but to utilize their worth, knowing that in the end, I need them, although they will never need me.
I try to look away, as if I don't make eye contact, I can continue to pretend as if they are not here. Their snickering continues as they glare in my direction, each one of them exchanging glances with each other, and then me. The perfect stance, the perfect posture, they both stand so still, so quiet, so intimidating. I close my eyes and face the corner as my head tries to clear it's thoughts. I try to calm my nerves knowing that any moment, I will have to approach them. Any moment I will have to pretend as though the thought of them doesn't make me want to grab the nearest blunt object and begin batting practice on their perfect existence. I will have to pretend, for a moment, that I do not mind being their, sharing a brief moment of my life with the two of them.
I can see the steam building around them, as if their perfection has caused a flame to erupt from below their blessed corner of the room. I know that the time has come, for this is my sign. I hang my head as I slowly put one foot in front of the other. The hatred inside grows as my arm begins to reach up toward their radiant glow, my hand stretches out, my eyes gaze directly onto them...
I lay Roger's uniform across the board, and regretfully begin to iron.

That's amore

I anxiously await, biting my nails down to the skin. Will you ever come? I sit at the window, nervously watching through the sheer ivory curtain, dreaming of the moment that I can run out the front door to greet you, reaching out with both hands, until finally my lips meet with your sweet kiss. Tick-tock, tick-tock, is all I can hear above the pounding of my heart. Time has stopped as I continue to watch the cars go by. The sun's glare continues to warm the glass of the window in front of me, and the sky above is as blue as the ocean. My feelings for you continue to grow with every moment that passes. My anticipation bursts through my veins as my mind drifts to thoughts of you. One look at you, and I fall in love all over again.
Suddenly I hear a familiar sounds, the sweet hum of the engine. I watch the corner in hopes of seeing your car driving towards my house. The hum gets louder, as I hear the music dancing down the street. I jump to my feet and leave my station at the window. Out the door I run, arms stretched out wide reaching for the joy that only you can give me. My lips quiver as the chill of your sweetness runs down my spine. I hold you tight, as the neighborhood children begin to push me out of the way. I look around and notice that I have won the race to greet you, the race to claim you as my own. I savor our first moment of the summer together, our moment in the sun. You are my beloved, and I need you more than words will ever describe, but as quickly as you came, you are gone, and again I am alone. The music begins to fade and the hum has driven away in the distance. My hands are no longer full, and I am left with a rememberance of you, a moist paper cone stained blue from your syrup. You are my sno-cone, and I love you!

Turning blue

I love the smell of fall, and if there was a window in this dark concrete slab of a building, I might be able to steal a small breath of fresh air...fall air. The chill has begun to saturate the wet air and the rain continues to pour down heavily on the ceiling above me. Thud thud thud has replaced the sweet sound of Barry Manilow that had been streaming through my computer speakers!
I've pulled my long sleeve shirt further past my wrists, stretching the sleeves past the point of no return. It has failed to provide me comfort from the non-stop running of the office air conditioning that the men around insist is needed in middle September. I've turned up my space heater, scalding my ankles with it's heat, and am waiting for it to radiate to the top of my body. My ankles begin to sting as the space heater overworks to battle the cool breeze of the air conditioning, but I can envision my toes turning blue beneath them.
I love the smell of fall, and I love the feel of a soft "hoodie". Hot Soup of the day served at the deli down the street, football food on Sunday, and the feel of freezing toes.... for some reason that does seem to fit.
It's almost time to go, so I put my space heater to sleep for the night. I rub my ankles to heal them from their scalding playdate with the heater. I look at my now purple toes and decide, maybe it's time to turn in my sandals for the beautiful chill of fall!