A Few More Rungs up on the Crazy Ladder
I just wrote in an email that I've discovered over the past few days that blogging is one of those things that, once you start not doing, becomes easier and easier to not do. Having written that, it became apparent to me that I need to start blogging again very, very badly.
Christmas at my sister's was great. I love my sister. I love my sister's house. I love my sister's husband and children.
But sweet Baby Jesus I'm just getting weirder and weirder. I hate travelling. I hate having to worry about all the stuff I need to take with me. I hate realizing that it's a stupid thing to worry about -- I was only going to London, Ontario, what could I possibly forget that I couldn't borrow or buy at a twenty-four hour Shoppers' Drug Mart, which is where my pharmacist sister used to work so chances are she already has five of it kicking around her linen closet right behind the beautiful beautiful codeine anyway? I hate worrying about what clothes to bring -- I'm non-standard-sized and neurotic, so based on a wide, impossible-to-predict range of dopamine levels, atmospheric conditions and which episode of the Simpsons is playing, I need a wide range of yoga pants and enormous t-shirts to choose from. I hate what a different city's water does to my hair. Not that Barrhaven water does anything great to it, but I pretty much know by now what kind of not-great things it does, and how to compensate. London water might do some different not-great thing, and then what do I do?
Yeah. All that even before breakfast. Add to that the fact that my sister is so goddamned super-competent that there's really nothing I needed to do in the way of cooking or cleaning (okay, cooking, nobody without a frontal lobotomy is ever going to ask for my help cleaning), and that the kids were pretty much perpetually off with their cousins playing unfathomable games involving electronics, top hats, dragons and British accents, and I was feeling sort of useless and restless a good portion of the time. I was also exhausted and had a bit of a sinus infection, so every time I tried to read I would fall asleep. Which I guess shouldn't have been that much of a problem. Christmas vacation, nothing to do, have a succession of naps. But it made me feel sort of embarrassed, as if I was sneaking off to drink vodka in my room. Which is stupid, because everyone else was both sleeping and drinking vodka right out in the open, and no one was pointing and laughing at them.
I went to my sister's computer a couple of times, thinking I might post, but it felt too weird. Apparently I can only blog with my ass in this particular chair, and my computer on this particular table, which is stupid because it's a laptop and theoretically I should be able to do it on a plane, on a train, in a box, with a fox. But when I wasn't looking I became a creature of place. One mediocre, messy, arbitrary place. I'm getting a little afraid that I might gradually lose the ability to travel anywhere. No trips to other cities, then no going downtown, eventually no grocery store or mailbox, and before you know it I'm Hugh Hefner without the smoking jacket and all the Viagra.
There were great parts of the trip, of course. I love seeing the kids with their cousins. I love sitting down at a big long table for dinner and not being able to eat for the first ten minutes because you're so busy passing stuff. I love sitting around in the evenings after the kids are in bed (and before the first one gets up) having a drink and talking with my Mom and Dad and sister and brother-in-law. Surely that's enough to balance the fact that I felt unbearably awkward, hysterically self-conscious and borderline traumatized by being there, with my own family, in an environment as alien and unnavigable as another house. For four whole days.
I'm so not a well woman.
We got back on Sunday. I haven't left the house in three days. I just got done playing Trouble and watching a Jonas marathon with Eve. I'm SO happy.
Christmas at my sister's was great. I love my sister. I love my sister's house. I love my sister's husband and children.
But sweet Baby Jesus I'm just getting weirder and weirder. I hate travelling. I hate having to worry about all the stuff I need to take with me. I hate realizing that it's a stupid thing to worry about -- I was only going to London, Ontario, what could I possibly forget that I couldn't borrow or buy at a twenty-four hour Shoppers' Drug Mart, which is where my pharmacist sister used to work so chances are she already has five of it kicking around her linen closet right behind the beautiful beautiful codeine anyway? I hate worrying about what clothes to bring -- I'm non-standard-sized and neurotic, so based on a wide, impossible-to-predict range of dopamine levels, atmospheric conditions and which episode of the Simpsons is playing, I need a wide range of yoga pants and enormous t-shirts to choose from. I hate what a different city's water does to my hair. Not that Barrhaven water does anything great to it, but I pretty much know by now what kind of not-great things it does, and how to compensate. London water might do some different not-great thing, and then what do I do?
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| photo credit creative commons license |
Yeah. All that even before breakfast. Add to that the fact that my sister is so goddamned super-competent that there's really nothing I needed to do in the way of cooking or cleaning (okay, cooking, nobody without a frontal lobotomy is ever going to ask for my help cleaning), and that the kids were pretty much perpetually off with their cousins playing unfathomable games involving electronics, top hats, dragons and British accents, and I was feeling sort of useless and restless a good portion of the time. I was also exhausted and had a bit of a sinus infection, so every time I tried to read I would fall asleep. Which I guess shouldn't have been that much of a problem. Christmas vacation, nothing to do, have a succession of naps. But it made me feel sort of embarrassed, as if I was sneaking off to drink vodka in my room. Which is stupid, because everyone else was both sleeping and drinking vodka right out in the open, and no one was pointing and laughing at them.
I went to my sister's computer a couple of times, thinking I might post, but it felt too weird. Apparently I can only blog with my ass in this particular chair, and my computer on this particular table, which is stupid because it's a laptop and theoretically I should be able to do it on a plane, on a train, in a box, with a fox. But when I wasn't looking I became a creature of place. One mediocre, messy, arbitrary place. I'm getting a little afraid that I might gradually lose the ability to travel anywhere. No trips to other cities, then no going downtown, eventually no grocery store or mailbox, and before you know it I'm Hugh Hefner without the smoking jacket and all the Viagra.
There were great parts of the trip, of course. I love seeing the kids with their cousins. I love sitting down at a big long table for dinner and not being able to eat for the first ten minutes because you're so busy passing stuff. I love sitting around in the evenings after the kids are in bed (and before the first one gets up) having a drink and talking with my Mom and Dad and sister and brother-in-law. Surely that's enough to balance the fact that I felt unbearably awkward, hysterically self-conscious and borderline traumatized by being there, with my own family, in an environment as alien and unnavigable as another house. For four whole days.
I'm so not a well woman.
We got back on Sunday. I haven't left the house in three days. I just got done playing Trouble and watching a Jonas marathon with Eve. I'm SO happy.
Comments
You do have just the best way of phrasing things sometimes. Love the bit about the games your kids were playing (British accents?! Awesome!) and about sitting at a table and not being able to eat because you're so busy passing stuff.
That being said, do try to get out of the house in the next couple of days. Even if smoking jackets are all the rage in fashion this winter, fresh air is good for the soul.
There's something uncomfortable about being a houseguest for me. Like I feel as if I should be on my best behaviour, but I don't really know what to do, and do I bring my own conditioner or is that weird? And with these kids I'm definitely not driving any more than 90 minutes at a stretch, so there's that, too.
Anyways, I feel you, sister. And I'm glad you're home and happy.