This is what wakes me up at three in the morning.
I lie in bed, in the middle of the night, depressed.
I can't do laundry without dryer sheets and it's starting to pile up. I dread the thought of going to Target again, in the morning, as all week has been a constant repeat of this time. Why do we even need dryer sheets? Is there a way to make my own? Should I be doing something more eco-friendly? I need to look this up.
At three in the morning.
Yesterday I felt pretty, in a blue dress and leggings. But in my car's side view mirror I caught a glimpse of myself and literally didn't even recognize her. And normally the car mirror is like, the most flattering of all. I note, in my head, thirty-four is the age I officially look and feel old. I look like that woman on Oprah, who drank Big Gulps of Diet Coke every day and Dr. Oz fixed her up and she looked young again. But I only drink water and unsweetened tea.
I get over it and am convinced that I still feel pretty. But then I start to be all sorry for myself, and wish I was beautiful for my kids, for on the arm of my husband in front of his coworkers and friends, and for my own parents. And for the guy that brings in the carts at Target. And for the girl at the checkout who could have been me fifteen years ago.
This is not really about my appearance. This is not about how badly I need to do something with my hair already. Or how I've let myself go- where? I don't know but Lord knows I'm not here. It's something I can not put my finger on, so I lie awake worrying about dryer sheets and the bitterness that is sneaking in about unfair things I can't talk about, stuff I thought I had forgiven and buried but it keeps un-earthing itself in my present.
I want to go to sleep. I want to wake up the old me with my new wisdom. I want to only be thankful, as I rightly should be. I want to run to something. I want to remember the fricking dryer sheets.