I dont want to be blogging right now. I want to be farming, or mining. Or both. I am re-addicted to Puzzle craft. I have traced with my finger many many miles. I guess they display that stat to kick us in the butt a little and remember that there is a real world out there. I remember, I just dont really want to play in it.

This means of course that the depression is back, if it ever left, which it did, but of course it doesn’t feel that way. It is different this time. Not so sad, or dramatic. No weeping over baby birds. Just more the I don’t wanna phase. As in, I don’t wanna exercise, or diet, or re-do the dishes, or learn about pokemon evolves. I don’t want to cook dinner, or switch pee sheets, or source the cat pee and spray it with enzyme. I don’t wanna mow the lawn. Not that I EVER do that. But for good measure I’m saying I just dont wanna.

So last week, as I neared my goal of “imperial castle” level 50 and snatched my iPad away from Leo because he was being “irresponsible with my resources” I decided that I needed to parent myself.

Yes, I told me, you are welcome to go to bed at 6 with both ipads and play puzzle craft and plants versus zombies and generally check out from life. As soon as you select three items from this list.

  • meditate
  • take a walk
  • write a blog post
  • do the dishes
  • switch the laundry
  • clean out van
  • find 20 items to give away
  • BBC headlines
  • watch a TED talk
  • weed (the garden)

Its working a little. That list is not the actual list that I made, because I didn’t want to get up off of my chair to get it. But it exists in a more robust form in my notebook. The house is much more clean. the garden is not so weedy. Although that too is an endless task. Zen and the art of weeding.

I’m waffling between thinking that clearing out my life and commitments to make room for something I have not yet defined is necessary and totally inane.

We are moving to Shelburbia, and I am moving into the role of Shelburne mom. I have a new pair of lululemon – I dont even know the word- pants? tights?  Hopefully not see through. I am one of the 5 mothers that the classroom teacher writes to when she needs fruit for a party, or an extra hand for a special activity. I love being in the classroom, (except reading with that one kid) I’m not sure that I love being available to be in the classroom. I mean, I have to squeeze it in between yoga and my runs. If only I weren’t joking. My day works around the rhythm of my kids. It must be what I want because I made it this way. I seem to have arrived here through a process of shedding things rather than an active opting in.

So once again I dont know what is next, which during a time that I am trying to focus on the “now” seems OK. Maybe even good.

I am incredibly incredibly bored of thinking about eating and diet. Just numbingly bored.

I took a neuroanatomy class in graduate school and remember having the strange sci fi conspiracy theory that the brains didnt want us to learn this stuff.

Sometimes I feel, as I take to the bed, iPad in hand, that my status quo self doesn’t want me to wake up. It doesn’t want me to notice things. It wants me to stay project oriented…with big moments of enthusiasm at the outset, and a relieved accomplished ending and nothing in between. I keep playing with the idea that life is the in between, and then turn away from that. Yeah, so?

I have to go meet the bus. Have my best five minutes of the day with my boys, and go battle some zombies. Or farm. Or something.

 

 

 

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Anna Rosenblum Palmer is a freelance writer based in Denver, CO. She writes about sex, parenting, cat pee, bi-polar disorder and the NFL; all things inextricably intertwined with her mental health. In her free time she teaches her boys creative swear words, seeks the last missing puzzle piece and thinks deeply about how she is not exercising. Her writing can be found on Babble, Parent.co, Great Moments in Parenting, Ravishly, Good Men Project, Sammiches and Psych Meds, Playpen, Crazy Good Parent, and YourTango. She also does a fair amount of navel gazing on her own blog at annarosenblumpalmer.com.

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