This morning I rolled over, wrapped myself around my boyfriend like a baby sloth and moaned I don’t want to go to work. He countered- Don’t. Quit. I’ll take care of you.
Old Reagon would have protested. New Reagon savored.
I just got back from ten days of soul searching. Of beauty, tense situations, silence, giggles, music, reading, nature. From ten days of being alive, present in every moment. Life was still, my thoughts and emotions were congruent. I was one with the perpetual feeling that I am so fucking lucky to have my baby and my man. To have my family.
That was it. That was all that mattered.
Loving or at least having a deep appreciation for your life despite it’s real-lifeness is the goal.
That’s so very important for me to remember. To keep on the tip of my tongue. To carry in my hand bag for those days when self-pitty and exhaustion hijack my gratitude.
My mother very graciously gifted me a new car (I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop fortune and luck tend to evade me). That car was filled with totes, boxes and bags of my things.
Ohhh these things. How do I describe them:
Books. Books I loved. Books I learned. Books that I couldn’t take to the thrift store because at one point and time each of those books held the ticket to the other side of a course and another A. All of those A’s. So shiny and desired. As it turns out they’re rather hollow, transcripts long forgotten. All that lingers is a nagging sensation to correct someone when they miss label Existential art.
Journals. Before I blogged I journaled. I love each one of them. But each one of them are tough to look at. Tough to face one page because I was young and dumb, the next because I invited in an unfortunate series of events launched by my grandmother’s death.
All of those mementos from Ever’s babyhood. I put her little plaster cast foot prints, her hand written birth story, her baby albums all in boxes and shoved them to the back of my mother’s garage. I would never throw them away they just had to be forgotten. For self-preservation.
I opened the trunk to that shiny new car and was met with five years of agony. My initial reaction, I’ll just drop it all off at the Goodwill. My Mom insisted, “No you’ll want to go through this”. Fuck.
Last night I did.
I thumbed through journals, books, papers. I smiled, I laughed, I shook my head in disbelief of all of the years of college that I soldiered through. I put a few things in the throw that away don’t even look at it pile. The rest I saved for today.
Today, I cried for that girl that I was not that long ago. That girl desperately grasping at normalcy. The girl making the worlds hugest batch of lemonade. The girl that got pregnant at 20. The girl who pretended for four years that her ‘surprise’ family could hold water.
I cried for the girl who honestly believed that she could make anything work.
For the girl who saved apology notes- a cheap bandaid clinging to the scabs of abuse and betrayal.
For the girl who went through labor all alone because she didn’t want to be a bother.
For the girl who should have fucking left. And for the girl who wrote -check- done 7/8/11.
And for that exhausted, pissed, purging, self-denying, material girl, wonder woman.
Life gets better. You’ll do better. You’ll find yourself, it won’t be easy, but you will.