Out of Control

I am out of control.

My house is a disaster. My laundry is piled to the roof. I can't keep up with my kids' clothes and field trips. I have a paper due Friday that I have barely begun to write. I have a thesis proposal to revise. I have theses chapters to write. I need to get organized before Craig leaves so that I don't have to do it when he's gone. I have appts. to make...people to see, places to go, things to do.

And yet, I sat down tonight, watched Project Runway and ate an entire pint of Haagen Daas Butter Pecan Ice Cream. I can't even say that I enjoyed it. I was on autopilot. I am trying to find my chewy center in all of this without taking a bite and can't quite seem to do it. I think I need a fairy godmother. I just hopes she brings her own spoon.

I'm melting...

Okay, so as I write the weather has taken a turn for the weird with a gorgeous and not too windy cooler afternoon. The sun is bright. The sky is blue. The birds are chirping (and crapping on my front porch and stealing my strawberries) and where am I?

I am stuck in the house, reading a horrible novel for a class I don't particularly like and don't find necessarily useful. Then I am stuck at the keyboard pushing my brain past its boundaries trying to somehow articulate the complexities of race and gender when all I really want to do is eat chocolate chip ice cream and watch Project Runway...

I want a day or week or month where I don't have to think. When I don't have to look at the complexities of a situation, when I don't have to think about 6 weeks and counting, when I can just BE. I want to veg. I want to play scarecrow in my garden and finally taste the bright red fruit that the damn barnswallows keep depriving me of. I want to play frisbee with Maisey and really be able to listen when Bradley tells me the litany of Pokemon he has captured on his game. I want to be able to kiss my husband before he falls asleep and I want to sleep without dreaming of fantastical Spanish lit, racial configurations in Southern lit, the horror of showing up on defense day and forgetting everything, and bombs.

I am beginning to feel like the wicked witch, like someone is running after me with a bucket of water, threatening to "melt me" and the really warped part is I am beginning to feel an urge to stop and let them throw the damn bucket.

So I will just say that the day is fast approaching when I am drooling in the recliner, eyes glazed, chanting "I don't want to read anymore...I don't want to write any more...and you can't make me..." Don't wake me then...please just place me in the garden so I can water the flowers on a gorgeous day....bliss