To be perfectly honest, I really can't put my finger on what's wrong with me this week. I feel curmudgeonly, misanthropic - all those big words that mean that you are generally annoyed with the world/feeling like a big giant bitch would suffice here. Perhaps it's the lack of sunlight. Perhaps it's trying to do too much and, in trying to do too much, doing nothing well. Perhaps, just perhaps, I'm wallowing a little in self-pity.
I think women like us, nowadays, driven, smart, ambitious women, have been taught to expect that we can have it all and be everything that we want to be (to steal a saying from the Army). Which is exhausting. I realize I am not saying anything new. Numerous others have already beaten me to the punch describing the dilemma that women today face. But I do want to say right now that I am really, really tired - punched in the face tired. And I have a conference paper to write. And I have two kids who are still running around downstairs like maniacs, the little one trying to cut her hair with fake scissors.
Ah, well. When I was a kid, I would always tell my mom on days like today that she wasn't going to die from it. Basically, I was trying to make her feel better, but it must have sounded an awful lot like, "Suck it up, Ma. Unless you are on the brink of death, you really don't have any right to complain." Which, perhaps, is not bad advice. Perhaps I should take it. Just perhaps. ~Alice