I was torn between keeping this blog a completely anonymous affair – cue brutal and ofttimes scathing honesty – and letting all the peeps in on the gag and toning it down.
As things stand, in classic Bambi form, I’ve gone right down the middle and saved myself from a truly perplexing conundrum.
I don’t want to be so indecisive.
It’s killing me.
I read the words of a wise woman today and it took me a moment to absorb them.
She spoke of the limitations she felt in herself as a mother as she stretched between working, studying and parenting, with the latter taking a sharp decline in attention.
Then I had a small panic because that’s kind of what I’m planning on for the next twelve months at least and for once I would like to finish something because I ALWAYS approach things in the most full on capacity possible* and only occasionally do I come through with the goods so if there’s any kind of cosmic force out there beyond Dan Harmons wit I beg of you to give me even half of this wise woman’s dedication and composure and intelligence and let me know shits gonna turn out all right.
*case in point: I’ve only ever crocheted. Of course I started out with a blanket that’s still a pile of squares in my craft box. Last week I took up knitting and the obvious choice is to pick a cardigan which also happens to be an accomplished knitters pattern and I’m no less than entirely absorbed with finishing it before we go back to Far North Queensland. Though I’m at the halfway point and I’ve been thinking for a couple of days perhaps I should have bought that jumper pattern instead, all the while acknowledging the voice of authority that tells me to see things through. (Yes that’s a cardigan. For a toddler. In the tropics. In wet season.)
The irony is I can see the lunacy of the situation but I’m not less obsessed.
And this example is not a far stretch from the way the rest of my life goes, which is a real concern because I’d like to actually achieve things at some stage.
Not knowing what the damned future holds.
FOMO (fear of missing out – I have to brag about my semester of psychology someplace, dudes) is a very real phenomenon and it kills me. In a figurative sense.
I cannot ever make a decision, and then when I do 98% of the time I’ll change my mind before I actually go through with whatever it is; from buying those shorts or enrolling in an interstate university. Otherwise I’ll have serious remorse and wish I’d just stayed on my comfy fence and never dabbled with the dangerous mistress that is being decisive.
As it turns out, the shorts never came but I have to return the jeans and top that were to come with them because they’re just not quite right. Which is kind of the story of my life.
The interstate university is yet to be determined but I have been offered a place in a distance nursing bachelors degree which means travelling 8 hours by car two-three days a semester.
I’ve booked a flight home for leaf and I but I do wish home was Melbournes inner suburbs and uni was the double degree I dream of.
Till then, my gears continue to be ground by things not going my way. If the universe could figure that out and get back to me with a solution, that’d be peachy.
I think the day I own a sedan is the day I’ll believe I’m an adult.
Because hatchbacks are so ’90s.
It is what it is.
I never never ever thought I’d last this long; it was definitely one of the toughest things I have ever pushed through and it paid off in dividends.
This last week leaf hasn’t had one single feed. She didn’t ask, I didn’t offer, and when I realised it broke my heart that I didn’t appreciate the very last time.
Then she had a quick snackeral while we were in the shower to cure the bump on the head blues and I got the chance to make peace with that incredible/painful chapter coming to an end.
Now I just feel sad and nostalgic and blue with love and the very real understanding that my bebe will certainly not be my bebe forever.
The walking and talking should probably have been earlier indicators of that..