I'm feeling all out of sorts. I think this is because I do not have clear goals right at this moment. I am an intensely driven, ambitious, complicated personality and I like tangible goals. This is why by the time I was 30 I had given birth to five children plus also completed my undergrad degree. I am a glutton for pain. Pain makes me feel like I'm accomplishing actual goals. But right now. I have no goals.
In January, it was easy: Lose Weight For Trip To Chicago.
Why I needed to lose weight before seeing my sister is not entirely clear to me. But it was, nevertheless, a goal. And I pursued it. I dieted. I did Zumba. I lost 13 pounds. I felt all disciplined and down with my bad self. Plus, I got a new job writing a column I really liked. So, things were looking up.
Then I went to Chicago. Which was awesome except for the random freak-of-nature-weather they have there--weather that is impossible not to take personally. I think I shook my fist at the sky at least five times and also interrogated passing pedestrians about their feelings on the weather.
Every time I walked into a shop, the cashiers took one look at me all bundled up and were all: "Is it really that cold out there?"
And I was all: "I'm the wrong person to ask. I'm from California. This feels like Siberia to me."
And all of them--every single native Chicagoan--thought this was HIGH comedy.
Then I came home and was very excited to get home because I had a new goal: Lots of Reunion Sex With My Husband.
And now that I've accomplished those two lofty goals--to remind you: 1. Lose Weight, 2. Reunion Sex-- I have nothing.
So, like the true professional writer that I am, I started writing a new book. And that lasted for about three mornings and then I got really angry and irritated at the new character I was creating. I just didn't like her. I wanted to get up in her entitled little face and ask her why she even thought she deserved to have a book written about her.
So, I abandoned that character and stood in the kitchen staring out at the lawn and thinking about how difficult it is to live a holy life. Let alone a goal-oriented life. Let alone life with allergies.
My husband came into the kitchen and said: "You need to change out of those pants."
"Why?" I said. "I love these pants."
"Those are your Distraught Pants," he said.
I looked down. These pants are kinda distraught. They are yellow sweat pants and are so unapologetically ugly that I can't help but love them. They make no apologies for being ugly. These pants say: I AM UGLY AND HAVE NO GOALS IN LIFE AND PLEASE PASS THE DORITOS.
I have not taken off the Distraught Pants. I'm sure I'm gaining back the poundage I lost. By the way, Doritos taste good dipped in sour cream. Just FYI.
Now, I'm sitting on the couch drinking my 3rd cup of coffee and upstairs, the twins are causing mass havoc. My ADHD brain is demanding structure, goals, something to drive at with wild, relentless ambition.
Oh, yeah. My mom brought me a package of Mint Milanos yesterday. I could finish eating those. There's a goal for ya.