I have been wondering, lately, if I should come to terms with the fact that I am not going to do anything else, or anything worthy of any mention should I say, except bring up my daughter. If I were to accept this fact, and stop believing that I will live any other dream, then I may find more peace than I do now. Once hope is dead, in a strange way (and this sounds more depressing than I intend it to), one can come to terms with reality and not have to live through daily turmoil. It’s only a thought, not that I am saying it’s what I’ll do.
Right now, my mind leaps into the future and imagines all sorts of merry scenarios where I’ve managed to strike that perfect balance between work and life, when, the truth is that I am doing damn all to achieve that. Yes, I am looking after my daughter and that’s commendable and all that good stuff, but I am fully aware of what lies before me – she will grow up and move on, and I will be left twiddling my thumb, or, to imagine the worst, lose my mind because that is precisely when I’d have the time to ponder over life and realize that time had passed me by, and all the rest of that. And the fact that such revelations will probably come coupled with the hot flashes of menopause (a cruel cruel double whammy), they may well ensure my quick and smooth transition into the loony bin, give me that final nudge, so to speak.
So if I am so aware of what lies in the future, what am I doing about it? Like I said, damn all, if you don’t count the blogging that is. Right now I have two hours while my daughter sleeps and I could try and get some work done, but venting some steam is what I am doing instead. In about twenty minutes she’ll be up and that’s it for the rest of the day for me. She’s two and super clingy so every thing I do has to include her or, well, or I hear her shrill, though utterly fake, cries that have the capability of piercing through the ear drum like a pointed needle. That, of course, is accompanied with flailing arms and legs, rolling on the floor and the like, which, I have now come to ignore in the hope that if they don’t get the desired reactions, like anger, from me, then they’d somehow cease to happen. Well, not yet.
So at the end of the day when I lie in bed I say to myself – another day gone and I know that the next day will be the same, because the ingredients are the same, so what will change? What am I waiting for? I don’t know.
What I do know, is that I am not giving up hope yet.