Executive Mal-functioning

I have this stack of planners, calendars and journals on my bedside table whose sole purpose is to shame and nag me. The pile continues to grow every time I spot one too beautiful NOT to buy at the Paper Source, or each time I open Instagram to feel bad about my parenting/body/wardrobe and am told by their advertising gods that if I buy this new kind of planner AND enroll in their online course in this very specific type of journaling, I too will end up the kind of parent I want to be with the body and wardrobe I’m meant to have. For the most part these planners remain empty and my life remains unchanged, except for the guilt, which grows as this stack becomes ever-more unstable. Really, how hard would it be to write just one line a day about my life, especially since setting aside these few minutes is apparently the key to happiness and gratitude. And what kind of mother can’t be bothered to write down the exact place and time of her child’s first word/step/lost tooth? As my self-esteem slips away with these memories, I find myself ever-more invested in my abusive relationship with these books. And tomorrow I’m confident everything will change when the mailman delivers the journal I found 2 nights ago which I know will be the answer…

Why can’t I keep any plants alive? It makes no sense that a person in charge of keeping 3 little humans alive should fail so consistently when it comes to flora. Even succulents and orchids, which supposedly need very little upkeep, enter my home to die. I so want to have one of those houses filled with green life and perfumed flowers, to be a person who revels in that new bud. But I am coming to terms with the fact that truly, basil bought from the store does the same job as the fresh stuff my neighbor gathers from her garden. And really, who ever has enough pesto when they attempt to make it themself?…

I have never known what it’s like to have any concept of where I am in space. Honestly, if you gave me $1 million I could not tell you which direction is north (to be continued)…

Published by imworriedmytherapisthatesme

I'm a history-PhD-turned-stay-at-home-mom of three. When I'm not microwaving Trader Joe's meals for my kids, breaking up fights and wiping butts, I like to paint and write. To cope with the endless hours I'm spending with my son doing virtual school, I've abandoned my gouache paints for the more portable, less messy tried but true, paper and ink. While he learns to read to 20 floating heads on his screen, I sit on a tiny chair, at a tiny table pretending to be a productive adult.

2 thoughts on “Executive Mal-functioning

  1. Lol I hate when ppl (especially people who know how directionally-challenged I am, namely my husband) gives me directions like, “just continue south on the road you’re on then go west until you hit the Dairy Queen and then go one block east”.. . Like honestly, you know I only understood Dairy Queen, right?!!!

    Like

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