Everyone has that one crazy friend. The one that can never find her car in the Hannaford parking lot. The one who always wears her yoga pants and then wears them to bed and then the next day and the next night until they do the downward dog to the laundry basket. Today this is me.
I have always likened myself to the chicken in the coop that has all but 3 of her feathers pecked out and tries to escape every time the gate opens. The one that all the other chickens look at and cluck. She looks kind of different and no one wants the eggs that she lays. And all the little chicks peck at her tired chicken feet and boss her into giving them her last morsels of chicken feed. This was me at the PTSA meeting tonight. Truthfully, I only go to these meetings to get out of the house. I don't have anything value to add except perhaps my vote for the allocation of the funds for sweatshirts or rockclimbing wall days - I wasn't really paying attention. What I was doing was looking at all these other women - these lovely feathered chickens with nice eggs and complete thoughts and matching shoes. They cared about stuff like movie nights and healthful living and soccer. Why am I not that chicken?
Which leads me straight into losing my car for the second time today and then sitting in found car and crying for an hour. Crying for everything and nothing and who I am and who I thought I should be. Why am I so disappointed? Disappointed with myself for being disappointed? For having stretch marks? And white hairs? And inappropiate thoughts? For having a messy house and fresh kids? For being a horrible sister? And a worse wife? For all of those things and oodles more. The absolute truth of the matter is that I am all of these things today. But I don't have to be tomorrow. Tomorrow I will not text and drive (horror of horrors) and I will wear pants with a working zipper and drink fewer cups of coffee. Or I might not. I might have a repeat day. Who knows? But isn't that the beauty of each new day? Perspective after a sleep and a shower (god willing)? Why am I the shit chicken? Probably shouldn't say shit. Shit.
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