This one is mostly for my lady-friends. Gentlemen, just sit back, listen, and then think about what we go through as women in American society. Yes! You are trapped in a gender-studies class, run by me. Muahaha!
As everyone knows because I can’t shut my pie-hole about it, I am leaving for New York on Friday around midnight, as I am a lunatic who thought the red eye would be a totally okay idea. There are always a million things to do to prepare for a trip of this magnitude, especially when the traveler desires to spend as little money as possible. The less money you want to spend, the more preparation necessary to avoid unwanted last-minute costs. That’s just science. Or math, I’m honestly not sure which at this point. I would make you a graph, but I’m too
lazy busy preparing for the trip.
So anyway, I have been running around doing errands filled with all-consuming importance such as shopping for good walking shoes (which I do not currently own) and taking my bridesmaid dress in for last-minute alterations (because my boobs lost weight [of course]), all while doing my Insanity workout every morning, writing extra blog posts for my impending absence, cleaning the house, making sure we have enough food to last the rest of the week and squeezing in my full-time job. Oh! I also sold my extra wedding dress (story for another time), so I had to go through the monumental task of trying to stuff fifteen yards of satin and tulle into a cardboard box small enough to avoid extra postage. Everything always happens all at once in my life, probably because I love irony.
So last weekend as I ran around town scrambling frantically to finish all my errands, I remember I had promised Mike I’d put some plants in the planter adjacent to the new deck before we left.
Sure, no problem! Totally got it covered! Go to the gardening center, purchase plants that all look artfully selected/arranged by a professional landscaper and appropriate for high-sun-exposure area, then dig six holes, fertilize, and plant the beasts.
Anyone who thinks they have the whole self-deception thing down, come sit by me for a while and I’ll teach you a thing or two. I am THE MASTER of committing to more than I can handle. Maybe it’s a good thing, that I am so confident in my abilities I am able to over-commit with such reckless abandon.
Now, I take my promises seriously so that a.) I cannot be accused of laziness/forgetfulness, and b.) my words cannot be leveraged as a guilt tactic later on – “Well, what about those plants you said you’d put in last week…?” Nuh-uh, not going to let that happen. I AM superwoman, I WILL get those plants in the ground if I die of exhaustion (or end up packing into the wee hours of the morning on Thursday).
So after a grueling day of trip preparation, I drove to the gardening center and selected my plants. Those plants got in the ground. Because I apparently have a death wish. Death by 4 hours of gardening-related activities.
When there is so much to do, do, DO, why am I incapable of cutting myself a break? Why is it IMPOSSIBLE for me to knock off work early so I can have adequate preparation time for the trip of a lifetime? Yes, I am working the day we leave. Basically to make a convoluted story short, I have to be at work that day because I’m obligated. Why can I not take a break from the blog, or cut myself some slack on my exercise routine, or eat out every night before we leave? Or say, sorry, but there is no way in holy heaven those plants will get planted before we leave.
Truth be told, once one card falls, I’m afraid the whole house will collapse. Being successful at something requires a mack-ton of work, I’ve learned. I am trying to excel at everything – be a good wife, be a writer, be
gorgeously fit healthy, pull my financial weight (although if I’m honest I’m not very good at that) – when is there time for all this? I know it will just get worse when I have kids. How will I handle that when I can’t even handle myself?
I guess what I’m trying to say is, I am worn down trying to “have it all together.” I want to put my feet up on the railing of a remote log cabin’s front porch in an undisclosed location with plenty of trees, a fully-stocked library and no access to the outside world. I want a vacation from life. Who’s with me?? Vacation for overworked women! Everyone welcome!
Does anyone else feel like they have to pick and choose parts of themselves in order to fit in their own lives? I feel like I have to choose – be sexy, be successful, or be responsible – but you can’t be all of them. Is this indeed a solely female phenomenon? I mean, I assumed it is, as (in my experience) American men aren’t held to the same standards. They can be all-of-the-above with way less effort. Their free time is actually free time, for video games or porn or whatever else it is that guys do. And don’t even get me started on the unparalleled inequity that is the whole men-generally-keeping-more-fit-by-eating-worse-and-exercising-less THING. Shoot, if my husband plays hockey only once a week and eats an extra salad now and again his abs look like an Abercrombie ad.
Stressed-Out Rant Over. I hope that I haven’t offended the male sliver of my readership too unforgivably. I further hope some of you are encouraged by my ineptitude; like, Shoot, and I thought I was a flippin’ psycho-hose beast pseudo-feminist martyr. You know, or something kind of like that. I’d like to think I was serving a higher purpose on this blog.