Women are irrational. That’s all there is to that. Their heads are full of cotton, hay and rags. They’re nothing but exasperating, irritating, vacillating, calculating, agitating, maddening and infuriating hags! ~ Professor Henry Higgins
I came across some items last night that I really wish I hadn’t. They set my mind off in a direction it shouldn’t go – down the road of “what ifs” and “I should have done this instead.” What a fucking incomprehensible jumble the female mind becomes when it winds itself up in such a fashion. It’s really one of the worst things about women – this mental nitpicking.
Sleep didn’t help. I had dreams that could best be described as, “This is what you get for thinking like that!”
Today I’m angry with myself. In fact, I’d like to punch myself in the face except I have errands to run and places to be and don’t want to show up with a bloody nose. Just know, I’m seriously disappointed.
There is a point to letting go. I’m horrible at that. I keep things either in my head or around the house. The Husband is well aware of this fact. “Denise, you can go ahead and let go of some of the baby clothes now.” Um. No. When I’m old, I’d like to look at those. “Denise, get rid of the baby toys – the kids are teens now.” Stop. I need that rattle. Go away.
I’ve always been this way. It’s why I still have toys from my childhood. I’d like to blame my Mom and her moving me from New York as what set me off down the road of not being able to let go of things. You see, Mom got rid of my collection of Dr. Seuss books. I had all of them. Every single Seuss book. I adored them. They were my 3rd favorite items – outside of my Snoopy doll and my precious Fisher Price doll house (complete with people and Tootsie Toy metal cars, thank you).
I don’t like letting go of things. I most certainly don’t like letting go of people. But today I find myself thinking back on the times I hugged loved ones and knew it would be the last time I’d ever see them. They didn’t know. But I knew. I let go. I walked away.
I fucking hate letting go. Did I say that yet?
Sometimes to move forward, we have to scrape the past off the bottom of our shoes just so we can walk on with a cleaner and lighter load. My dreams last night tell me I’ve not done a very good job of that.
Around my house are photos of my children as babies and toddlers, which isn’t to say I don’t also have ones of them as adolescents and teenagers. I have a nice selection of memories framed. And that’s it, isn’t it? Framing memories. Capturing a little moment in time where something was so perfectly beautiful and blissful, you wanted to keep it forever. Relationships are like that. I looked back on those items last night with sadness in my heart that I let something go. That I walked away just so I could move on. But clinging to something that wasn’t working wasn’t healthy for anyone involved.
When my boy comes home from college, I cling to him for the first hour or so. There he is! He’s right here! Look, isn’t he the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen? He tolerates it with remarkable patience. Such a good boy. When he’s packing up to leave, however, he is terse and brisk. He doesn’t like tears. He doesn’t like to see me completely dissolve into a puddle of misery. He can’t cope with that. He gives me a quick goodbye hug, tells me when he’ll return, and that he loves me, and then he speeds away. I’d say he’s better at letting go than I am, but he knows he can always come back. That things, as I’ve mentioned before, are kept under glass, just as he’s left them.
It’s that part – leaving things preserved under glass, I guess, which has me so upset today. I’ve preserved memories I no longer want. I don’t want to come across something that fills me with pain. Life is painful enough. Life throws shit on us and if we’re strong, we thrive anyhow. Thanks for the fertilizer, life. Screw you. I’m still here.