I’m at a weird midway point. It has to be midway because I am not ready to be done and over. I’ve checked all the boxes in my life plan, I’ve failed at some of them (marriage, getting a doctorate, meal planning and cooking) but I’ve tried them all.

I don’t know what to do next, learn next, study next, try next. I have no idea what lights my soul on fire, and it’s really dark and cold in here without that light.

So many things to say during the week and give me a quiet, windy, cold, Saturday morning and my head is blank.

Of course.

This is what a former principal called The Mean Season. Too deep into winter gray to remember summer, too far away from Spring to see the light at the end. I’m in The Mean Season.

The End.

Too late to dream, to have a new dream, to try again, to start over.

Time is running out, almost out, overtime.

Instead of it motivating me to do more, I am frozen stuck.

You would think I would feel like time is short and precious and be making the most of every minute. Not finishing A Million Little Things and not writing what burns inside. Not rewatching Brooklyn 99. Not not enjoying the every second.

Stuck Stuck Stuck in the “it’s just too late for everything I would like the chance to do.”

And there you have it. Nothing inspiring today.

(But I showed up again. And in a bit I will get on the yoga mat. So it’s too late but I haven’t totally given up?)

I wish I was the kind of person who could be effortlessly organized. Could have lists and follow them and always have the right food and the picked up house. I did that once upon a time when all the chemicals in my brain and flex time allowed me to be that version of perfect I had always meant to be. It’s been over a decade since I saw that girl and I keep hoping to see her again.

I got eye shadow that doesn’t seem to have sparkly flecks in it. Because at 43, the sparkle on a weekday screams mutton dressed as lamb on my face.

Still watching A Million Little Things.

Still need to get someone to clean my house on the regular.

Still sitting here trying to bang out something every day in the name of practice.

All day in the crummy day I still knew none of this was really bad. This is the kind of bad day I would beg for if things really went wrong.

Didn’t change the constant getting knocked down, trying again, getting kicked back to the ground feeling that ground through all day long.

Is this important enough to actually sit and type out and hit publish? of course not. That isn’t the point of today’s entry. The point of today’s entry is that even in the crap, I can sit here and keep this promise to myself that I will practice writing. I will practice reconnecting to this part of me. Even on the really throat punching kind of days.

I left work, went straight to a Neuro appt for mom, then home. I need to figure out some kind of reset button from work to home because I get home after 9 hours of being “on” and I want to be done.

We did yoga, and I was kind enough to myself to not do all the lunges because all they do is make me scream and hate on myself. So I just didn’t do them.

Then a lot of run around with Mom’s appointment for tomorrow because stuff like that seems never ending. (Except that really it is just sporadically in hyperfocus these days. I just hate dealing with it entirely.)

Started A Million Little Things tonight. It’s either going to contain a lot of excellent moments or it’s going to go to tripe real quick. Let’s find out.

I’m glad I wrote the thing above (click the link my chicks). It tells me where I was and how stuck I’ve been.

Same things apply. All the scrapbook worthy events have passed. The change is that then I knew that chapter wasn’t for me, it was for others. Now I feel like the page turned and it’s my turn and I have no idea what to do with it.

I have a job and the money is great but my heart isn’t as in it as I would like. I am exhausted from being a generalist who knows a little about a lots of things in my field but not enough about any one thing to ever really feel competent. And for me, feeling slightly incompetent every day of my work life is just grinding my soul bloody.

I wish I would have gone into Fashion Merch when I was 18. Learned that field and gone and had fun. Instead I trudged through Elementary Education, not realizing how poorly suited I am to work with and among large groups of kids till the end of the 4th year of school.

I wish I would have realized how old I really was in those classes when I was there. 40 is not the new 20 when you are sitting by the Homecoming candidate in your knit Carly and TC Leggings. It’s feeling like a peer but finally hearing you are the mom. I can’t do the 20 years of career over and I’m feeling some killer regret over that more than anything. I wish I would have known better, more diverse, more interesting, more fitting, careers at 18.

But I didn’t. I did the best I could with what I knew then. It’s that awful depressing acceptance.

Still painful what I cannot do over.

I can tell I have been off work for 2 weeks, my head is so clear and healthy and I can see. I’ve been out of the rat race and the stress of outside everything and just been able to focus on me and my nest of home.

I’m watching this fabulous interview while I’m typing this. (Sorry, I thought it would embed here, but click through if you want something to watch/listen to) https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/video/full-drama-actress-roundtable-elisabeth-moss-thandie-newton-watch-1127133

It’s women from 34-60. They are beautiful (yes I know they have stylists and a lot of help) and smart and passionate and well spoken about what they are doing and the stories and they are telling. These kinds of things are exactly what I need right now. Bold messages that this isn’t THE end, it is just AN end, because new things are trying to start. Not that I have a single clue what they are, but watching women in my age category being vital and more than grinding out getting up at 6, running kids to places, going to work, and trying to be caught up on the laundry helps me, then if you are stuck in the same place I am, maybe it will help you too.

Had to look up how to find the login page for wp since I don’t have a widget on the home page. That’s how long it’s been since I logged in. I posted some old stuff from fb and then checked my email and got my 2-year invoice for my blog. Apparently the whole universe is thinking about Kaisermommy today. (nah).

As much as I want to be jaded and unaffected by a new year, it still feels fresh and as if new things are possible. The light is brighter and #moarhappyer. As Anne Shirley Blythe would say “Tomorrow is a new day, fresh, with no mistakes in it.”

2018 Me would have commented that I woke up to 2 zits and 3 gray hairs how sad oh my. 2019 is all YAY I WOKE UP!!!

A week and a half of vacation is great for good head space. Good enough that we are getting ready to yoga for the next 30 days. Whatever new start you need, hope you get it.

This about middle age was particularly breathtaking. I was super pissed at myself that I didn’t create those words myself. The hot sticky shame of knowing I have more to give than my ass on the couch playing a game on an electronic.

All the fun milestones we wait for while growing up are behind me. Graduations, Marriage, Career, child(ren). No more bling and sparkly fun scrapbooky things for Dawn to register for. Nope. Those events are in the rear view of my 10 year old car and over-40-need-bifocals-vision.

All the upcoming events are more like which parent will get a life threatening health condition next? which parent’s funeral needs arranged next?

My firsts are “first hospitalization”, “first chronic illness that will probably earn a line on my death certificate”, “first surgery”. It’s all terrifying and when I wake up at 4am to pee because I had a sip of water after 6pm, it’s all I can think about.

My kids are out of the sticky stage and in the electronics are cooler than me stage. I think I’ve tried all the ways to have sex at least once. I’ve bought a house, I’ve bought a car. I can get a grown up job. I can quit a grown up job because it was killing me. I can stretch a buck and eat PBJ for a week or spend 500 dollars on a pair of shoes. I know what bullshit I just will not stand for, yet am not ready to lead the charge against all the evils of this world.

I feel like I should be doing greater things, but then I get home and couch lock and I’m just done. I could burst out in a Helen Mirren is my idol, brighter than the sun, vivacious middle aged female but I can’t because I still feel 20 and not strong enough to attract attention, yet ancient and old from everything in the last two years.

I am solidly sandwiched between a child who isn’t a man for another decade and a mother who needs her only child.

I’ve come to basically accept that this chapter of my life doesn’t belong to me. It’s a long tedious footnoted chapter of what I’m doing for everyone else. I’m on that list, but so far down I would have to turn the page to find me.

I’m split between longing to do it all again and taking better advantage of simply being young and before all the shiny milestones and being grateful that youthful awkwardness is behind me, replaced by 40 something awkwardness.

If you think I’m going to wrap this up in some way that will make any of us feel better, you’re not paying attention. Everything is un-done. Undone. Either taken apart or not finished. Yes. Both. Please. I can’t even get the dog to stop scratching or look decent in photograph. Looking for someone to nod with you and say ‘I can’t believe we’re here either’ … That. I’m your girl.

I just don’t care. There is no point. Save for the future, die at 61. Save for the future, scrimp, deny yourself, nursing home at 68. Screw this. I’ll never be rich, I’m always just behind the curve of money opportunities. I’m lucky to be as healthy as I am. I’m not poor enough for help and not rich enough to matter.

Alex matters. That’s about it. I can build a world around him and be fine with that. Otherwise, forget it.

I’m caged and bored. My house is always dirty and I am always gaining weight. It’s the same things I have talked about for 20 years or more and it’s so boring and I’m tired of being boring. Everything is messy and unsimple and done and repeated.

So bored.