Some mornings I wake up, my blood is flowing, my eyes are bright, my mind is in a positive state, and I tell myself, “Today is going to be a good day”. However, most mornings are mornings like today…where I look at myself in the mirror and think, “we need do something about that”, personifying my reflection as if it will indeed do something about the image it has portrayed. And then I head into the bathroom where I notice the stray eyebrow hairs that are in desperate need of plucking, and instead of plucking them, I move my attention on to other things, like that pesky grey hair that keeps popping up. And then I lose my focus and move on to the sink that needs cleaned and the toenails that need to be painted. In every direction my eye moves, there is another imperfection that needs to be improved, and yet, I continue to move past them, frigidly, without offering them even a bit of comfort for their inadvertent hideousness.
Today is one of those days like so many, where I wish that I could spend it under the covers, lost in my head somewhere; anywhere but here.
Because here is where I am thirty-five pounds overweight, and yet I continue to eat whatever I want, and have yet to find an hour in my day to work off the endless calories I consume. Here is where I leave the house at 6:30am and don’t get home again until 9:00pm (or later). Here is where I work two jobs in order to live a normal life where I don’t allow myself the pleasures of frivolous things, and yet I still can’t afford to buy living room furniture. Here is where I’ve been sitting on the floor for the past year and a half because I insist on buying the living room furniture I want…because there should be no reason why I can’t have it. Here is where every time I try to save money to pursue my goal to have a baby, my savings needs to be used for other things, like a new apartment, or a new car, or food…the same food that makes me fat. Here is where I am alone, and I don’t know if I want that to change. Here is the place I run to when I don’t want to let anyone in because I’m the only one who knows the rules here, and I don’t feel like explaining them to anyone else.
On days like today, I cancel lunch dates without giving explanations because I really just want to go to lunch with myself. I take a book with me, and I sit at the first empty table I see that isn’t adjacent to anyone who looks like they might try to have a conversation with me. And then I eat while I turn the pages in this other world, written by a real writer, that I wish I could dive into and drown beautifully beneath the unlikely combinations of words that make my skin tingle. But on days like today, the enjoyment only lasts so long because it is inevitable that I will spill something on my white shirt. And then I do. And it is mustard. And I want to cry, but I can’t because then the lady sitting at the table across from me that almost choked on her sandwich, but didn’t, will look over at me thinking, “that’s what you get for not even looking up to see if I was going to die.” But if she said that, I would just tell her that I am a doctor; I just prefer not to wear my white coat, and I knew she wasn’t dying because she was coughing, and even laymen know that if you’re coughing, you’re not choking. So there.