The Sandwiched Gen-X-er

What do you want to be when you grow up?

I want to be positive, brilliant, inspiring, organized, grounded, creative, and disciplined. Somewhere in there I would add beautiful, but I don’t want to give that too much merit. It’s the part of me that I wish I valued less. Someday I will have to learn to live without it. It’s already a battle I tire of fighting and is probably one of the biggest de-motivators to starting the day. The other part is the exercise I know I should be doing. I wish I spent less time on trying to make myself look good and more time on trying to help my body feel good. I have an auto-immune disorder that can give me some pretty crummy days, so a regimen of healthy eating and exercise would probably “do my body good.” But instead, I just try to paint over it. My face is my pallet.

I suppose this is where I could confess that when I see these little stick figure yogis walking into Gordman’s or Macy’s or HyVee with their fluff of gorgeous hair all tied up on the top of their head, and no makeup, and sweat pants, and a cute little tank, and maybe flip flops, I want to crawl under someone’s car and wait for them to back out and put me out of my misery. Or, honestly, I’d rather just throw her under there. The Snow White Stepmother syndrome really is a curse. I want to unlearn these things.

I crave time to be alone, to sink into my mind, wide open space to write, and play the piano, and paint. I don’t think I would mind being in a nursing home someday just so long as I lose my hearing (at least the odds are in my favor on that one), and maybe my sense of smell, and have my own room, and my own lovely view out my window with lots of sunshine, and I have a computer on which to write, and a pallet on which to paint. I suppose my music days would be over unless I reverted to a keyboard with headphones, but it’s totally not the same as a piano.  As though I do any of these things now, but I think someday I will.

I took good care of my boys when they were small. I hope they will remember this. I hope they will take care of me. I wish we could do more to help Patrick’s parents. His dad’s memory seems to be really slipping. I am in denial about this. I think Patrick is, too. He didn’t send anything for our birthdays this year. This never happens. This makes me sad. Not because we didn’t get presents, but because we know it means he forgot. We probably need to try to move closer, but with children living with their other parents, it’s hard to think about moving so far away from them. If we could have had just five more years before this started to happen, it would make this a little easier.