@Rubbs: I love that a dog is all you want from life. I totally aspire to be you one day.
It’s weird that you posted this today. I’ve been thinking about that a lot.
I guess it comes with the territory of getting married….the whole settling down thing, living with and for another person.
Or maybe I’m just a really selfish person.
It started Friday night…I was pulling a 24hr shift. I caught myself in the mirror on hour 21 or 22 or something. My hair was disheveled, my eyes were dark and bruised and empty and broken and in my hand was the bucket of poop that I’d been carrying around for the past five minutes.
(Maybe I should clarify. I work in a hospital. The poop was for strictly medical purposes. I don’t always walk around carrying a bucket of poo.)
All that I could think was that this was not where I saw myself at 26 ten years ago.
It wasn’t a sad thought. Well…it was but it wasn’t entirely depressing. Just sort of made me try to analyze how exactly I got to this point.
I never wanted to be a nurse. It was something I just kinda fell into out of survival. When I was 16, I had imagined that I’d be much better travelled by now; writing in some leather journal along the edges of some courtyard, people speaking in various languages which I only barely understood. I imagined myself as some sort modern day Anias Nin, Nan Goldin, living in places called “lofts” and “flats” with the derelicts and the drag queens. I imagined that I would wear hippy colored scarves and smoke Gitanes and watch sunrises with men named Jean-Juan-Antoine.
What a dumb naive little twat I was.
In general, I like my life. I enjoy my job, I enjoy the company of my boyfriend and I mostly enjoy my friends but every so often I get this wild hare up my ass and start wondering if I am going to be happy being someone’s “wife” or “mother”. It was never something that I aspired to be growing up. I aspired to be the crazy, spinster aunt that brought my niece and my nephew trinkets from my worldly travels.
It’s not that I don’t feel blessed to have the life that I do now. I know that I have the love of a man who would give anything for me and I for him — even 16 year old poetic dreams of writing my way across Europe and India and Bali. It’s just that every so often, I think about the fantasies that I’ve compromised to have this blessedly normal, well-adjusted life.