You only live once,
but if you do it right,
once is enough.
Except lately I have been plagued by the distinct feeling I am doing it all wrong. Blame Instagram, blame my too tiny house snowboxing me in, blame the fact that I made the mistake of settling down in what feels like a too small town.
Whatever it is, I am driving myself crazy and probably driving my family crazy, too.
Nothing is clean enough or open enough or bright enough. This morning I was window shopping leather sofas with money we don't have even though our couch is fine. Chocolate stained from years of sticky birthday fingers, but fine.
I want to throw all our stuff away and start over.
The renewed passports have arrived, four of them so technically we could all get up and go but it's such a joke because airfare would cost as much as two or three leather sofas and kids gotta eat.
There's nothing to look forward to. That's the problem.
Last year, I put on my crazy hat and drove the kids to Florida. Last month, there was a ball. Now 2017 is stretching out endlessly in front of me with a whole lot of sweeping out the mudroom and a gazillion more baskets of laundry to fold.
More window shopping - three-day Iceland trips and summer in England and Costa Rica and please, Lord, just send me anywhere interesting that's not here. Preferably somewhere the food is just that much different and I have no idea what anyone is saying.
Is this what getting older is? You remember that once upon a time life was exciting but the everyday just drags you deeper and deeper down until it's all just cleaning up other people's cake crumbs.
And then I feel bad for wanting more. I'm warm. I'm safe. I'm fed. My children are healthy. I have friends. We're not exactly struggling. But damn it, this doesn't feel real. Like I'm stuck in the space between happenings. And I don't know what to do about it.
Current desired mood: