watchin’ the garden grow

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I am just as busy as ever.  For those lovey’s who’ve been on the roller coaster ride with me, this seems impossible.  And I cannot recall how I did it all before.  If I was a meth junkie or a speed freak it would all make sense about how I went to school, went to work, did the carpool, volunteered, was a wifey and generally did it all and more.  My resume is insane!  And I cannot fathom how I might even remotely consider doing even one quarter of what I had done before.  I recall that my schedule was insane, that I carried a palm pilot (precursor to the blackberry) before it was all the rage to manage your schedule so tightly.  I know that I have been an overachiever in my past, and it is a weird feeling now to not feel that intensity, that drive like I did before.

So what exactly am doing now? It feels the same as it ever was, but I haven’t thrown  a job or an academic calendar in the mix.  I’m pondering – with much intensity – a return to the halls of scholastic achievement.  But really, what to do?  I know I’ve mentioned this before…  but my professional background, being what it is, and my academic experiences, being what they are, really do not narrow the playing field.  And I’ve always liked the fact that I have diverse capabilities which lend themselves to all kinds of adventurous situations – they have forged a history that I never dreamed possible from my bedroom window as a child.  Yet, it seems that in my agedness, I need to find some specificity, something that will direct my talents and interests in a single-focused direction.  And I just can’t seem to find my way through that.   
My focus had for so long seemed to be towards reaching this impossible goal and when I got there, it was a miserable ugly bitter and devastating place to be.  I know that I cannot take working with a bunch of hairplugbottomfeederoutfortheself-ASSHOLES, and I have learned that I neverever, nevernever, everever want to be like them or even near them.  Experiences with the nastyuglies of the world do change a person.  Inputs dramatically restructure the outputs, and I am not the kind to rest easy on being okay with ‘garbage in, garbage out’ kind of living – and I was never into the professionalism for the money of it – so where would I belong? 
I keep asking this question, waiting for an answer, and still waiting when I am quite accustomed to doing, being, experiencing rather than cerebrally, waiting.
The kids are off to school and I really am quite busy, with few minutes of the day for to ponder the drift.  What has always worked for me is the doing, doing something until the something else comes along, as it always has, to guide my next move.  Yet for the last year – nothing.  Nothing has come and I am still awash in the mire.  This has gotten down to a maudlin sort of self-pitying post and the reality is that I am not outrageously depressed, I am not lost in a black nothingness –  I am privileged in the ability to have this existential crisis – and I know full well the rare position that I am in.  So I guess I am just trying to take advantage of it and write my way through/out of it at your – my dear readership – expense!
Posted in wednesday's child

a bitchin feminista mama at the intersection of political quagmire and real life.

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