Wednesday, July 30, 2008

Where the Buck Stops

I'm tired. 

I'm tired of being responsible. Tired of doing the right thing. Tired of keeping all the balls in the air. 

I don't want to do the salon's banking today. I don't want to run payroll. I don't want to write a profile on an Hispanic entrepeneur.

It's raining. I want to wander an art museum and get lost in color. I want to sit in a conservatory and smell things growing. I want to eat beautiful food I did not prepare and make toasts with stemmed glasses that sing on contact.

I want to lie in the greener grass and watch someone else paint the damn fence.

I understand these are feelings, not actual (or even virtual) reality. I know it will pass. The sun will come out tomorrow, which is another day. 

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

I don't want to understand. I want to be right and righteous and righteously angry. And I want to do all this rightness while someone else does the dishes.

Thank you for listening. I feel better now.


Doubting Thomas said...

Here' a story that might amuse:

On the Saturday night closing festival for the Minneapolis Aquatennial, seven of us sat in comfortable lawn chairs on the stone arch bridge over the Mississippi, waiting along with 10,000 or so other souls, for fireworks to begin.

Soon, our friend Jim began to snore sitting upright in his chair, chin dropped to his chest. This has become a common posture for JIm. To the eye, it looked like gentle snoring. To the ear, however, it was Armageddon, and was a clear violation of peace for at least 5,000 of the souls on the bridge. Dogs miles away began to howl in pain at the rumbling in Jim's nasal cavity.

"Jeesh," said John, Jim's brother in law as he looked at Jim and shook his head. "He looks exactly like those decrepit old guys you see snoozing in wheelchairs at the nursing home." We all nodded in agreement, though by now we are more or less innued to the spectacle. Children walking by stare at Jim and gaped in wonderment as the flopping uvula in his wide open throat vibrated like an oriental war gong.

Suddenly, Jim's cell phone began to ring and he leaped awake and in befuddlment reached for his phone. A look on consternation and confusion came over his face. For a moment, he clearly did not know where he was, or how he had gotten here. After a few moments his eyes cleared slightly, and a sheepish, embarrassed look came over him, along with a rueful smile. He put the phone back in his pocket while it was still ringing.

"What?" said Mary, Jim's sister. "You're not even gonna answer it?"

Sitting three feet away, I quietly slipped my cell phone back in my pocket.

John realized now what had awakened Jim, and he began to laugh so hard that tears came to his eyes.

"Thanks," he said to me, sobbing. "I needed that."

Deb said...

It sounds like you need a day to lay down your life and just be with yourself. Honor those feelings in some way so that they're more willing to let you do the dishes. Sending you love and a wish for a good adventure.

Go Mama said...

SING, Sistah!
Sounds like you need to get sis or some other office ast on the books and get thee to some joy, like stat!! Your fun! Go do some of these things you're aching to do....

Carrie Wilson Link said...

I'm with Tanya, SING, Sistah! Know the feeling well!

Michelle O'Neil said...

I'll do your dishes in exchange for the chuckle over "I don't want to write a profile on an Hispanic entrapeneur."

I hope you screwed it all and went to the museum.


Petra said...

Coming out of lurkerdom, as this post really hit a nerve.

I hear you, I hear you, I hear you. Oh so LOUD AND CLEAR (and am feeling quite similarly actually.. which is WHY I am running off to a Bruce Springsteen concert tonite.. which I have NOT done in 10 years (!!!)).

I'm with Michelle.. hope you went to the museum..

kario said...

Do what you wanna do. Be where you wanna be. The rest will wait.

Love you.