“Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate.”
I’ve always wanted therapy and never been able to afford it, or maybe I could afford it if I re-aligned my priorities and stopped being such a cheapskate. Regardless, I am therapy-less, and have no one to helpfully point out to me my unfortunate habit of making the same mistakes over and over. And yes, I have always called them fate.
It’s buzzard luck. I love that phrase; it means bad luck that never ends. That’s what it is, it’s buzzard luck, and mean people, and that town that didn’t get me, my boss wanting too much and the kids acting out and not getting enough sleep and not making enough money and being too tired to write and the kids not eating a bite of the labor intensive meals I make, and the IRS audit, and the huge loss we took on the house, and that old hag upstairs banging on the ceiling when I’m trying to bust out to Elvis Perkins in Dearland’s “Shampoo.” That’s what’s holding me back.
That, and all the events I need to plan for work, the press releases still to write, the reporters and designers to call and email and send chocolates to. And that play date- how could I have forgotten snacks again? The other Moms must think I’m such a mooch. And great, the Friday nanny quit to pick up extra shifts at Starbucks, and the new nanny has to get back surgery, and the new new nanny wants a raise. After one day. And I can’t find the mittens. There must be 10 pair and I can’t find even one. And the living room is a mess again, and why does this entire load of clean laundry smell like poop? Now I have no clean socks for crazy sock day (let alone crazy ones). Wait- did Lulu eat anything other than blackberries yesterday? Why is Mumu crying because her sweater has stripes? It’s a damn nice sweater. Don’t forget to take them back to the Pediatrician today for a second attempt at a physical. Why couldn’t she get on the damn scale the first time? How could I have forgotten to return the 4 ft llama to Mumu’s class? Who forgets a 4ft stuffed llama? Where the hell did that koala in a sack come from? And why haven’t I written back to those people who wrote me beautiful emails about my blog? Why am I such as ungrateful asshole like that? Why haven’t I written any blog posts? Why haven’t I been leaving comments on other people’s blogs? Why am I neglecting my blog relationships? How could I have forgotten it’s International Night at school? Then Bring Parent to School Night, and Morning Brunch with the Principal to follow. Why is the car making that godawful sound every time I drive in the rain? Where can I find a mechanic that won’t keep it for two months then return it in pieces that I have to sell for scrap? Why did I not sue that guy six months ago? Why does my husband keep losing the Tom’s on Maine Kids strawberry toothpaste? It’s getting annoying.
When we first moved here we lived out of suitcases for months, waiting for our things (getting fuzzy with jungle slime) to finally arrive. I didn’t have any of my pots and pans and so mostly I used the kitchen for dancing. I would twirl to mixes my brother made me, and that’s where I heard Elvis Perkins. “Shampoo” is such an odd song, but really spoke to us at the time; my husband and I would drink wine and play it over and over, “Sweep up little sweeper boy, it’s you who’s got the wig on now..” Somewhere along the line we lost the sweeper boy, then very nearly lost the house. Lost everything, really. But lots of good things happened too – new careers, a great school, birthday parties, and riding our bikes to the beach. And what I’m now realizing is that none of that, good or bad, is buzzard luck or fate; it’s just life. It’s my life, and it is not holding me back.
My favorite part of “Shampoo” is the part where Elvis Perkins sings, “You are worth your weight in gold, you are worth your weight in sorrow, baby, though you may never know why.” That’s how I’m trying to think of life – worth its weight in gold, worth its weight in sorrow- and I know why. My babies; I’m holding them right now.