Blog day 20 – finding yourself in your bubble
Over 70% of the way there to some (fingers crossed, but well-signalled) let-up of the Alert level. We should feel:
(a) elated, not deflated;
(b) proud, not shameful of what we have become;
(c) strong, not currently concerned about our well-being;
(d) engaged and engaging, not quiet and mopey as I have nothing interesting to say.
So why did the essential service Easter bunny not lift spirits (as well as sugar levels) much. What was that damn bunny up to? I thought they were supposed to spread joy – and chocolate. I go and consumed the chocolate bit but the joy missed me. I feel cheated!
Got though teenage birthday in lockdown as mother who cared and helped make it a great day. So why do I feel flat and fed-up?
Why is it I feel the worst form of those emotions. When I look around the house I think I have lost something of myself and am not sure what I have become. You see current me has:
- Scrubbed the tiled stairs on our house so they are actually white not cream – who would have guessed it?
- Scrubbed and cleaned the walls of the kitchen so they are no longer that manky shade of grey.
- Cleaned very disgusting, disturbing, filth infested inch of the teenagers’ bathroom which is a trauma I do not think I will recover from quickly.
- Played many inane games with the teenagers over and over again to distract them from screaming at and beating each other.
- God help me, done the crossword which is the domain of my mother in law – say no more.
- Failed to maintain exercise.
Former SO would have:
- Staunchly ignored the solid cleaning for a once over lightly approach to deal with the veneer of teenagers’ vile filth.
- Insisted with feminist virtue and a frightening glare that if I have cleaned at all husband must do exactly the same amount. There will be no inequality in this house!
- Ashamed to say, played a quick game of something with teenagers to stop the nagging and then be able to return to the pressing work demands that wont let up.
- Never deigned to touch a crossword as it’s the domain of said mother in law.
- Kept up my exercise as best as time allowed.
So, I have decided, there is only one way forward to get through the next 8 days. No more deep spring cleaning exercises. It’s just not me and can’t become me. It’s infiltrating my skin. Must not touch the Jif again. It’s poison to the soul.
Must do something to feel like a woman in control. Small thing, but will paint toe nails. That small task will tell myself I care.
Must find a corner of the house and hide away for a bit to read a book. Door will be shut and a “enter at your own peril” sign on it.
Lastly and most importantly, do not wake the sleeping beasts upstairs (teenagers). They can slumber to mid-day and then I will have less time to deal with while juggling work!
Oh, and have made work list of 6 items to complete. No one ever crosses off all items in any one day so aim for 4. Do the easy ones first right!
Simple recipe to maintain slight grip on sanity and it might just work.
Having realized my downward spiral of decline and standing up to reclaim myself, I feel I should thump the desk, burn my bra and march around the house bare breasted chanting feminist anthems. Really just for fun to scare said husband but it would be worth it.
So strong women out there, throw down your Jif, pick up your nail polish and reclaim your spot in your bubbles. 8 days to go and we are going to finish this as fabulously as we started!
Kia kaha, my lovelies, and adieu. Stay safe and remember Jif is your enemy.