Road to Crazy-Town
The following post may contain content boring to men and the general public. Hopefully there are middle-aged mothers out there who can relate. Nevertheless, reader discretion advised.
A Day in Menopause-Land, a suburb of Crazy-Town
7:30 am: Drive youngest Saffrine to school. See Why You Shouldn’t Talk in the Morning. Cry a little. I used to be such a good mother.
10:30 am: Finish current day-job tasks. Am now free for writing. Or Tetris.
10:35 am: Begin plotting story for National Novel Writing Month. Feel virtuous for removing Tetris from Facebook.
10:36 am: Plotting is hard.
10:37 am: Simply cannot work with current tools. Brain seizes upon the notebooks recommended by Ivan Coyote at the Surrey International Writers’ Conference. Nothing else will do. Gather journal and other materials for coffee-shop writing, once notebooks have been acquired. I have a Plan! This Day I WRITE!
10:45 am: Do hair, make-up, put on power shoes. Look successful, be successful.
10:46 am: Blot face, following hot-flash brought on by hubris.
11:00 am: Staples in town does not have the aforementioned notebooks. Must go to next town, a half-hour away. There is no option. My focus is laser-sharp and unbreakable. Plus, I’m all dressed up. I can’t go back home.
Noon-ish: Second Staples store, no luck. Mall, no luck. Side-streets I took accidentally because I’m directionally-challenged, no luck. Feet starting to hurt. Worse, I pass a young woman with happy, blonde toddler. Wave of nostalgia comes over me. I was her, once. My Saffrines looked just like that! Did I enjoy it sufficiently? Did I treasure those precious years? Did I make macaroni collages with them? No, I did NOT! I should have another baby.
12:15 pm: Repair make-up in car. Give head a shake. New baby would require new husband. And new brain. Also, ovarian function.
12:20 pm: Go to Chapters for a restorative book browse. Perhaps caffeine. Feeling a little shaky. After shopping, I will calm myself by journaling my thoughts. Yes. I will Write.
1:00 pm: No tables in Starbucks.
1:30 pm: Go to nearby heritage town where there are cafes aplenty, all of them cute, independent and NOT CROWDED. See more serene mothers with happy babies, all wearing natural fibres and using non-violent voices. Come on! Where are the scary-eyed ones?? And why didn’t strollers have cup holders when I had babies??
2:00 pm: Latte and soup in a delightful antique store/cafe. The quiet soothes my ravaged soul.
2:15 pm: Have written one line in my journal, mostly expletives, when the antique doorbell tinkles, and a group of people enter. I attempt to ignore them. This Day I WRITE!
2:20 pm: Hard to ignore, as they are moving furniture. One of them carries a clip-board and a bull-horn. Turns out the quiet, tucked-away cafe I chose for my rare day of out-of-the-house writing is hosting a movie shoot. Yes, today. Seriously.
2:25 pm: Walk back down cute heritage-town streets back to car. Feet now throbbing.
2:26 pm: Start car but don’t know where to go. Anywhere but home. Still haven’t gotten any writing done! Consider following highway until I run out of gas. Who would miss me anyway? Put head on wheel and sob! In an earlier life, this would be PMS. But I haven’t done That in seven months, so it’s “just” menopause. Hurray.
2:27 pm: “Cat’s in the Cradle” come on the radio. Weep for lost opportunities. Better not drive yet. “Butterfly Kisses” comes on next. Switch to traffic station. After all, there’s a tw0-hour parking limit.
2:30 pm: Hot flash and with it, existential panic. Chest tightens. I can hear my pulse in my ears. Am I having a heart attack? I can’t have a heart attack yet! I have too much left to do! My Mr(Always)Right is already wildly successful. The Saffrines are on their roads to success, their lives ahead of them, full of promise and potential. Me, I’m just on the road. Driving. To Crazy-Town.
2:31 pm: I miss my exit, which seems somehow fitting.
2:32 pm: Remember Pic is waiting for after-school ride. Call Hic to do it, since I can’t, having fallen into my own navel. Motherhood skills definitely on the wane.
2:45 pm: My day of writing and notebook acquisition has been an utter wash. Although I did find a new brand of underwear which I am hopeful will change my life.
3:00 pm: Take one last swing through local Staples, on a whim, since I took the wrong exit and all. And VOILA! How did I miss them the first time around? Ivan was right. These are so cool! Surely this will be the tool that catapults my writing career to stardom!
3:31 pm: Realize that I’ve wasted an entire day. A day I can ill-afford to waste because, hello, I’m not getting any younger! The next heart attack could be real!
3:32 pm: Crazy-Town, here I come!
3:33 pm: Mental slap upside head. Get a grip. Seriously. You know that Everything’s Fine. This is just Life. It’s called a Mid-Life Crisis for a reason.
4:00 pm: Remind myself that Crazy-Town is populated by some very nice people, many of them writers.
Plus, in about a month, I’ll be able to drive there in my new car.
After all, if you’re gonna be a cliche, you might as well enjoy it!
Art and Life
- At October 07, 2011
- By Roxanne Snopek
- In Life, Roxanne Writes On
- 0
To all the artists in the world: THANK YOU!
Of All the Things I’ve Lost…
… I miss my mind the most.
I don’t know where the joke originated, but I can relate.
Although for me, it’s not my mind, it’s my glasses. Yup, I lost my glasses this morning. (Losing my mind came later.)
Anyone who wears glasses understands the conundrum. How do you look for your glasses when you can’t see to search, because you LOST YOUR GLASSES??
In fact, I have more than one pair, so it wasn’t quite that traumatic. But still, they were my favourite, newest ones, my Juicy Couture frames in a nice cranberry colour. The ones that make me look like Lorraine Bracco.
And seriously. They’re either on my nose, my dresser or my night table. Maybe the bathroom counter. Possibly my car. But that’s it. How far can they go?
My girls gave me that “here she goes again” look when I asked them this morning if they’d seen them. I don’t misplace things as often as I probably should, given my rather loosely organized lifestyle. But it makes me absolutely batcrap crazy when I do. It’s all I can think about.
Why aren’t they where they should be? Why? WHY? Where are they hiding? Where? WHERE??? Am I going blind?? Am I insane?? (This is where my mind started to go.)
Is someone gaslighting me?? WHAT’S WRONG WITH ME THAT I CAN’T FIND THEM?
They must be in one of the usual spots, right? So I look AGAIN on the bathroom counter, the night-table, the dresser. My car. My office. The laundry room. The kitchen. Nope, nope, no, no, of course not, why are you even looking there??
Then an awful thought dawned on me.
I sometimes set them on the bed before I do my nightly sit-ups.
Quickly I patted down the comforter and the quilt. The usual creases and bumps were there, but nothing resembling crumpled stylish plastic in a flattering cranberry shade. But my spidey senses were tingling.
I slid my hand down between the mattress and the footboard, and voila! there they were, in all their stylish glory, miraculously unharmed and uncrumpled. Instantly I tossed aside my older, unfavourite glasses and put the Juicys back home where they belonged, grateful for the return of both glasses and sanity. (And of course my perfectly composed Dr. Melfy look.)
From now on, they’re either on my nose or the dresser. That’s it.
Maybe the night-table.
Possibly the bathroom counter.
But that’s IT.