Tuesday, July 20, 2010

chickens and bbqs

Sit still. Calm down. Just relax. Turn your brain off.

Since I have been a toddler, I have struggled with calming down and relaxing. My mom tells me that I had a difficult time taking naps and struggled with falling asleep. This fault in my sleeping schedule still haunts me to this day. I cannot have any caffeine after lunch, or it will keep me up at night. I will lay in bed for at least 30 minutes before I am able to drift off to sandmanland. I try to start the "night process" around 10 at night with reading my catholic meditations for the day and then journaling. Still. Up. It's incredibly frustrating when you toss and turn, knowing that you have to be up at 6.35.

It's even more nerve racking when your neighbors are having a cook out/BBQ in their backyard and are carrying on until 11.30 pm. Add the backyard door swinging against the back of the house and you have one cranky emotional Monica at midnight. How is this related to a restless Monica? My lack of being able to shut my mind off affects more than my sleep schedule. Right now, it's affecting the view on my life.

Over two months ago, I slowly began a new chapter in my life. That day in April I had no idea that that Open House would start me down a path that had already been laid out by God. My life has not been the same since; it's more beautiful and filling and complete. It's healthier and I do not mean specifically in the diet or foods I am eating. Although I have gotten back on track taking my Active women's One Daily vitamins. You know how you plan your ideal situation and incorporate that headless Ken doll with the house, kids, limestone sign with a last name and powercat, circle drive with purple iris' and pansies in hanging pots, a golden retriever , and a few chickens? You see your friends charting that new territory and wonder if you could have "it". They post pictures on facebook of their cute bungalows with all their disgustingly cute DIY projects. They're standing next to the "SOLD" real estate sign with some cheesy over make-uped real estate agent smiling holding "the keys to your next house". And, of course, they're kissing. Because that's what those people do all the time. They kiss as though they're going for some some Grammy award for "Best Kiss". It's iris' and pansies' all day for them, while we are stuck renting houses and refusing to mow the grass, because your landlord is an idiot and you're not getting your security deposit back, so eff it. As far as buying a house? Forget that, because you sure as hell do not want to be in this town another year to justify dropping too much on a piece of lumber and buffalo grass with dried up flower beds of rock.

Then, your delivery of purple iris' arrive. And you want the chickens and have visions of picking eggs from coops at daybreak for scrambled eggs with drizzled cheddar cheese and a dash of black pepper. As for the DIY projects, rain check. For now.