i am sitting in my bedroom with my headphones on BLASTING my new favorite band (currently awolnation) and escaping (or attempting to escape) the world. Twenty years ago it was because i was a newly hormonal teenaged girl who didn't fit in to any world. i listened to my music as loud as my sony walkman would go and wrote my stories or poems or essays on life. not much has changed. i'm still hormonal (in completely different ways), i still blast my music (now digital rather than my scotch-taped together cassette tapes) and i still write my heart out each night.
tonight, my husband came home from work (at 9:30) to find my enzombied (i like this word, whether it exists or not) body sitting on the couch with a screaming infant and a hormonal 3yo. okay, she may not actually be hormonal, but my god- this kid acts like a 14-year-old sometimes, tonight being one of those nights. i had them both ready for bed by 7:30, when i 1st put the baby down. two hours later i was the zombie-mommy on the couch. i wanted to cry, but i had no tears. i had nothing left. i just sat there.
he, thankfully, took the baby and somehow made things seem much less bleak than they were.
after another hour, we collectively got them to bed. and here i am, sitting down, hiding in my room, listening to my music as loud as my (now old) ears can handle, and i'm writing out my frustrations.
i wonder if in twenty years, when i'm 54, i'll be doing the same thing. my guess is yes (although, once again, my hormones will be of another vastly different reason!)
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