i fell in love with the burden

Something about this song spoke to me this morning, so I’m sharing.


I’ve found myself in the land of random thoughts this weekend.

My roommate is visiting from San Francisco, as he does every few weeks.  These weekends tend to be full of activities.  He’s here an extra day to drive me to a bloodwork appointment–because I can’t drive after losing that much blood (vampires).  We usually pack and clean, all weekend.  This weekend, I decided I wanted to minimize all of that.  There was lots of that yesterday morning, but I did my best to get it out of the way early–so I could breathe and rest.  It was a decidedly nice Saturday.  Nice to know all the have-to-get-done crap was over with.  Nice to spend two whole hours in a tub of beautiful scented water.  Nice to stay in pajamas (when did they get so big?!) all day long.

This summer has been full of so much doing.  So much processing and change.  So much learning and growing. Weekends have been full of have-tos and shoulds rather than want-tos.

It’s been good for me, in a way, to find more of my independent self.  To remember quieter, solitary me.  To get closer to my heart and my aspirations rather than the routine that comes with living with someone–even when that someone isn’t the someone.  I’ve found more of myself, here, in this quarter of a year.  I’ve also spent time connecting–seeing if my lego fits with this lego or that.  Finding that sometimes it does–albeit awkwardly.  And sometimes, I find my pieces morph in deceiving ways, creating gaps where none really exist.

Lately, I’ve missed the weekends of years past.  Those of my mid-20s, when things were somehow less adult.  Where I would walk in the rain for hours and paint things with friends’ kiddos.  Where I’d hide behind trees to avoid exes.  Where I wrote for hours in the middle of the night.  Heartbreaking times, sure, but times when I felt most alive and here.

Adult is good in its own way.  There’s a pride I get from cleaning things just so.  From accomplishing big tasks and ridding myself of clutter.  From prepping good food and putting time in on the elliptical.  There’s an honest feeling I get from that–a feeling that tells me I’m doing okay.  That I don’t need anyone.  That I’m taking care of myself and loving myself in ways I couldn’t just a few months before.

But I miss my weekend adventures.  Even the ones that only go a few blocks down.  I miss smiling at strangers.  I miss talking too much and too loudly.

I miss people.

God.  I never thought I’d say that.


I’ve been nesting a lot lately.  Or, I should say, wanting to.  (Our apartment’s a mess of boxes and…crap).  I keep dreaming of our new place.  What the sofa will look like.  The art that will be on the walls.  All the weekend projects I have piling up in my head.  I keep dreaming of time spent on beaches, in giant forests, and places I’ve never been before.

It’s made me nostalgic for something I never have had.  Family.  A true one.  A functional one.  One that’s mine.  One I create.  Not one I inherited.  Not the burden of the one I have.

Last night, I thought about being a mother.  It feels closer to me.  Mostly, I think, because time is ticking away.

I have a plan.  Deadlines.  If, thens.  Ultimatums with myself.  At 37, I wonder how that plan will fit in with all the other plans.  Because if this plan goes there, I will start my art therapy practice with a baby in play–or soon to be in play.  I might be teaching too.  What then?  So many plans.  Can I do them all?  Will I want to?

I think so.  Yes.

I’m going to be a good mom.  Not a soccer mom.  My kids won’t be scheduled.  We will travel the world.  I’ve toyed with the idea of getting a little bus or trailer and traveling when I do my PhD.  They could come and play with me.  I could teach them about all kinds of things.  Creating our lives as we go.

God, it sounds like so much fun.

My kids are going to be awesome handfuls.  Just like Mama told me they’d be.  And somewhere, she will know that I’m a good mother–like her.

I feel so impatient.  I want it all, now.

But gotta find a husband.  And if not, a kid.  All such long journeys.  Do I have the patience?


But it will be okay.


Life is good this Sunday.  Too busy, but I had great coffee.

I smiled at my new neighbor’s kids.  They are 7 and 12. Blue hair.  Mine is currently cherry cola.

They were impressed.

Adult life isn’t so bad.


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