You Know I Could Never Leave You
So. Vermont.
It's gorgeous up here.
My friends have bought the coolest house. It is just perfect for them. I am happy to be here and I am happy to be with such good friends. I am happy that our kids are all snuggled together in their sleeping bags. I am happy to eat and hang out, but I can't figure out why, with all this happiness, I don't feel happy.
I am not really relaxed. I'm not really sure what it is I should be letting go. I was hoping for a little bit of clarity up here, but all I am really feeling is a haze. There's good food, beautiful scenery, and great company and I am enjoying all of that. But somewhere hanging around the periphery of my consciousness is this feeling that I am doing all the wrong things.
Why can't I just chuck everything and move to a fixer upper with great character like my friends? Why can't I commit to my life in New York? Why can't I be a better mom that isn't always so stressed out everytime her kid dissolves into nervous screaming? Why can't I go to sleep at 11:00 like everyone else? Why am I stuck?
So I am back to my favorite compulsion. I'm blogging on my vacation. How pathetic is that? I couldn't even hold out for longer than a day. I must be a total lunatic.
I should start writing a more private journal like I used to.
Except nobody ever read those and, clearly, nothing I do is valid unless there is an audience. I really wish that I didn't need so much attention. Frankly, I am embarrassed by this weakness of mine. I'm trying to stay low key on this vacation, but I haven't been able to look anyone in the eye since this trip started last night.
Maybe I'll get into the groove tomorrow. The men are going out to pick up a wood burning stove and do some bonding. You know, taking things apart, putting them back together and lifting heavy objects. The Chicks are going to be hanging out with the kids picking Swiss chard and making pie and quiche. Maybe I'll be able to step out of myself tomorrow.
It's gorgeous up here.
My friends have bought the coolest house. It is just perfect for them. I am happy to be here and I am happy to be with such good friends. I am happy that our kids are all snuggled together in their sleeping bags. I am happy to eat and hang out, but I can't figure out why, with all this happiness, I don't feel happy.
I am not really relaxed. I'm not really sure what it is I should be letting go. I was hoping for a little bit of clarity up here, but all I am really feeling is a haze. There's good food, beautiful scenery, and great company and I am enjoying all of that. But somewhere hanging around the periphery of my consciousness is this feeling that I am doing all the wrong things.
Why can't I just chuck everything and move to a fixer upper with great character like my friends? Why can't I commit to my life in New York? Why can't I be a better mom that isn't always so stressed out everytime her kid dissolves into nervous screaming? Why can't I go to sleep at 11:00 like everyone else? Why am I stuck?
So I am back to my favorite compulsion. I'm blogging on my vacation. How pathetic is that? I couldn't even hold out for longer than a day. I must be a total lunatic.
I should start writing a more private journal like I used to.
Except nobody ever read those and, clearly, nothing I do is valid unless there is an audience. I really wish that I didn't need so much attention. Frankly, I am embarrassed by this weakness of mine. I'm trying to stay low key on this vacation, but I haven't been able to look anyone in the eye since this trip started last night.
Maybe I'll get into the groove tomorrow. The men are going out to pick up a wood burning stove and do some bonding. You know, taking things apart, putting them back together and lifting heavy objects. The Chicks are going to be hanging out with the kids picking Swiss chard and making pie and quiche. Maybe I'll be able to step out of myself tomorrow.
posted by Bree O'Connor at 10:58 PM
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