Tuesday, June 19, 2012

Remnants Of A Young Mother On The Brink

I've been on a mission to get my life in order. I've sorta got a plan in place for my health and fitness (although recent doctor visits have thrown me for a loop. BLAH. You don't wanna know.) and I've tiptoed into the financial security level of adulthood. But the mountain I've yet to conquer? Maintaining an organized apartment.

This month, however, I just dove into making sense of the mess that engulfs me- emptying out one bag of unopened LATE NOTICE bills from 2007 at a time and shredding papers as if the feds were on their way to indict me for insider trading. And let me tell you, I've been coming across the most interesting artifacts from my life as a frustrated wife and then as a new divorcée.

One such trip down memory lane found me face-to-face with the realization that, at one time long, long ago, I used to look up to Oprah. I thought she was an amazing person who only wanted good things for me, so I subscribed to her magazine as a way to compensate for the fact that I didn't have time to watch her show.

If you were (or are) a subscriber, and I don't know if she still has this as part of her magazine, then you'll remember that she always had these tear-outs with poignant, introspective questions for you to answer in order to become the "best you" you could be. I LIVED for those tear-outs as if the meaning of life were embedded in the folio text of each one. One of the folders I dug up in the Hoarders episode I call my room contained at least two dozen of these sheets, one of which was filled out:

My handwriting looks crazy, too.

My heart went out to that 25-year-old who found herself burdened with two small kids when really, she never even wanted ONE, and a husband who, well, wasn't the one for her. She was losing it on the inside but didn't know why or how to fix it.

Somehow I made it through my marriage, and I'm seven short years away from surviving active motherhood, and I can't even really tell you how I did and am doing it. How am I still here, sober, relatively in shape and able to wear a smile sometimes and mean it? White Baby Jesus only knows.

Now, let's see if that same chick, supposedly older and wiser, can survive her student loan payments and finding a place for all the laundry she washed last weekend...

*smooches...realizing how resilient humans really are*
when you notice all the shit we can adapt to, it really blows the mind like a two-dollar hooker with no teeth!