I feel the urge to write something interesting.
I want to be funny.
I want to make you laugh.
But I’m gonna level with ya. I don’t have much in me right now.
Sometimes, I’m a shit-talking nutcase who thinks EVERYTHING is funny and cracks herself up in the car writing blasphemous things in her head. I get home, crank something out, and laugh while I’m doing it cause it’s fun and it’s real. There is no effort.
But lately, there’s been effort.
It’s ALL BEEN EFFORT. My whole life has been effort.
I’m in one of those spots where I just don’t see it. I’m not seeing the meaning. I’m not catching the vibe. I’m not smelling any damn roses.
I feel a little lost, though I’ve been here before.
I want to blame it on my life. I want to blame it on our lack of money, or the fact that I hate our neighborhood, or that I’m tired or worn out or stressed about school…or cause I have no idea where I’ll be in a year – will I have a job? Will I go on for my PhD (shhhh! Don’t tell! But I’m thinking about it.). Will my husband still be wishing he were doing something else? Will I have lost these final 30 pounds? When is it going to change?
Will it ever get smooth?
And when, people, WHEN, will I grow up?
When I was a kid I had this idea that someday life would make sense. That there was this place, right around the corner [Right there! I can almost see it!] that I was heading for. It was waiting for me, and when I got there I would know. I would just know.
The hole would be filled. The questions answered. The hunger satisfied.
But instead I have life. Moment to moment, fired at point-blank range.
Nothing else. Just life.
Sometimes I look around and I see no meaning in any of this. The grind. The working. The marriage, the kids. The dog pissing on the floor. The boy who won’t EVER JUST FUCKING DO WHAT HE’S TOLD. The girl who insists on growing up and asking deep questions I’m unqualified to answer. The toddler, oh, the toddler, who runs runs runs and drags and pulls and sucks my heart right into her smile and my whole life into her chubby little palm, as she tows the last shred of my energy with her constantly spinning feet.
I want to blame all that. But I can’t.
Because I know life is RIGHT HERE, right now. This IS the spot “around the corner.” This is the space where meaning lies…there is nothing else.
And these kids bolting around, driving me nuts, are like flashes of lightning against a night sky – so astonishingly beautiful – if only I can catch a glimpse.
See them for what they are.
See the shattering light of their energy against a limitless night sky.
But instead, lately, I’ve been preferring to stare at the small dark circle around my own wandering feet. A tiny patch of ground.
I know it’s my choice. I know I’ll pull out of this. I know my perspective is small right now, and self-centered, and ineffective.
But sometimes, damn it, life just isn’t inspirational. It isn’t funny or cute or even vaguely interesting.
It’s just WHAT IT IS.
And the hardest part is that I am just what I am. A flawed human being, unable to perform all the time. Telling myself “Janelle! Write something funny! Be entertaining!”
And I’ve got nothin’.
But I write anyway, cause this is the truth, and I don’t want to be fake with you, and I don’t ever want to write because it’s what I think people want to hear, like it will cast me in a better light, make me seem better than I am, more than I am.
It’s funny, you know, the way when we’re kids we’re just SURE we’re gonna be something incredible – something special. Change the world. Be president.
And then we find we’re just one more human, trudging along, dodging life’s bullets, passing whole days sometimes, staring at nothin’ but the ground.
And I have a feeling some of you, maybe, sometimes, can’t quite find the sky either. [Even though it’s right above our damn heads.]
And maybe that’s why we’re all here, crazy as hell, laughing our asses off, looking for it somewhere.