Having given up the bladder battle and gotten out of bed to use the restroom already anyway, I decided to take this opportunity to plunk away at this random, stupid blog. It's entire purpose is to jot down the crazy that occurs in my brain "after midnight." But here's the thing...
I started this blog before I had children. Before I had headaches. Before I got tired... Ever. Really. Before, I just slept because I ran out of things to do. Why was no one else awake to play with me? Well, now I can answer that one for my Past Self. Past Self: everyone else was sleeping so they could get enough rest to handle their grown-up jobs and their not-so-grown-up children without throwing either their coworkers or their dogs out the window.
So they sleep. And now, so do I. And suddenly, the same loopy euphoria that I used to get at 3am hits me at about 10:30... I'm pathetic, I know. Past Self looks down on me...... And.... Forward.... I guess...........
So, anyway, 11:45 is now the equivalent of about 4am. I am officially experiencing a kind of strange, emotional perplexity that is otherwise unattainable during regular business hours. With said emotional perplexity comes a string of thoughts so interwoven into my subconscious that I really don't know who's talking: me, or Past Self.
I don't even cuss, but Past Self is a real bitch. Sure, she seemed all nice and wholesome and hard-working, but what you and I both didn't know about her is that she was busy weaving a web of loyalty, intoxication, need, and abandonment issues meant to ensnare innocent future prey (aka me.)
Too many thoughts. I can't handle so much stuff. Life at this stage is hectic enough as it is, but to be trapped by feelings as far reaching as these... It's suffocating. One can only facebook stalk so much before having to branch out into the real deal. Drama!
What is going on, right? You are sick of the vague, (and trust me, so am I.) Well... I'm having ex-boyfriend issues. Classic, I know.p My best friend suggests I try therapy. I'm going to take a stab at blogging instead.
I have been happily married now for five and a half years. We have two beautiful children. I am pretty freakin' awesome and still I think I may have married up. My daytime self is a saint, mostly, aside from the occasional temper tantrums, nervous breakdowns, and the fact that I often talk my foot right into my mouth. But at night, that Past Self (remember, we previously called her a nasty word?) comes out itching to toy with me.
I dream. We are talking, technicolor, surround sound, screen-written dreams. They're memorable too, especially when familiar characters arise. This week I've dreamt of a certain exbf who shall remain nameless because on the off-chance that he ever reads this, why give him the satisfaction? Anyway, I've dreamt of him twice. And if I could think of another reason to say the word, "dreamt" I would, because it's simply fabulous. Dreamt. There, I said it. Anyway, I've dreamt (sigh) of him twice in the past week, and now I can't help but think about him. What's he doing? Who's he dating? Why is he still single? Mind you, that last bit gives nothing away because all of my ex's are still single.... That's a blog post in and of itself...
I wonder sometimes if we both live until we are 85 and our spouses die if we won't get married just to have someone with whom to kill the time? I worry he'll compare my wrinkly old body to the one I had when I was 20; a wrinkly body which was once appreciated by the man for whom I mothered children and with whom I shared a long life could be cheapened and cut down in minutes by such a blow. I wonder how that girl I knew he was dating the last time we spoke has handled his commitment issues? Is she broken like I was? What if she never gets out? I don't necessarily feel bad for her. Part of me wishes I could have had him. That part is overshadowed by the part that feels grateful for the husband I've got. I wonder why he only looks cute in 30% of his facebook photos... All of which I've seen tonight... I could have sworn he was only ugly 7% of the time in real life...?
In a crazy shell, it's time for the beeyotch in my brizzain to Step. Off.
Peace.
