The Wanna Be

Yes, I am that girl.

The wanna be.

I wanna be organized, beautiful, intelligent, IN CONTROL OF MY EMOTIONS...

Sadly, none of this is true.



When it comes to organization, well, let's just say it's more sporadic than actually orderly. It works something like this:

I note that my kitchen cabinet, hall closet, my bedroom is a mess and spilling out into daily life. The light bulb flickers on inside my head and I think, "Gee, wouldn't it be great if someone cleaned and organized that mess?"

Since we cannot afford to hire help, that someone, of course, will be me.

And I'll dig in!

There will be a bag for the Mission, a bag for the garbage, and stacks of things that simply do not belong where they've been stuffed.

Why am I saving a long, flat box of European chocolates that is now empty and void of all the delicious chocolatiness? Is it because our missionary friend from Moldova gave them to us?



Why is there a half empty package of stale crackers in the plastics cupboard?

Should linen napkins really be stored underneath the toaster?

Lids with no matching containers, Ziploc bags with only crumbs of what once occupied that space, snow boots, gloves, one black sock...All need to find a home other than they now have.

Sadly, the organization only lasts a few weeks. I've come to the conclusion that we are pigs. That's right, pigs.



I wanna be beautiful...

A little over a million years ago, I walked into my new high school restroom and noted the two most beautiful young women I have ever seen. They were stunning. My little freshmen brain, hidden somewhere beneath caveman eyebrows and yards of unruly brown hair, simply knew that some day I would look like these two Venuses! They were seniors and I just knew that all senior girls looked like that.

I'm forty-two years old and I'm still waiting...

Sitting in my furry pink bathrobe, unruly brown hair (now streaked with gray), slightly better eyebrows, and a shrinking upper lip, I find that I am anything but beautiful.

Ah, you say, but true beauty is on the INSIDE...snicker...yeah...right...



I wanna be intelligent!

Look, I'm not saying I want to be Einstein. All I want is not to look like a doof at every given opportunity. You know what I mean! I'd like to be able to have a nifty come back to the zinger that is thrown my way. I wish I could express myself in person the way that I do on paper.

I'm so much better on paper...

And I wish I understood Algebra. Okay, that's a lie. I hate Algebra and could care less about it.

Note to Girl: This does not apply to YOU. You are far more intelligent than your mother and you DO understand Algebra and you will NEED it at some point in your life. Trust me on this




Is it too much to ask to be in control of my emotions?

Don't you think it's a mean little trick of God to place two hormonal females in the same house when they are at different ends of the spectrum? I'm just askin'.

I told Beloved just a few days ago that I am losing my mind. I'm out of control. They may need to keep me locked up so that I don't hurt myself or anyone else.

Yes, it is that bad.

I don't sleep well. At any given moment I mad, fuming, irritated, ticked off! On Sunday I read the obits (weird, I know) and the sad, sad, sad story of a couple...sniff..sniff...just got to me.

They were married for seventy years. She died in November. He passed away just three weeks later. Sniff....sniff...booo hooo hooo....It was as if He couldn't stand to live without her...sniffle...

But the real question here is WHY DIDN'T SOMEONE TELL ME?!

Is this some sort of secret? Don't you think women of a CERTAIN age should be warned that they are going to go completely insane?

And do you know what the older ladies said when I complained about sleeplessness, anxiety, and sever mood swings? Do you?

"Oh honey! It just gets worse!"

Worse?

And they laughed while they said it!

It seems to me that in the olden days they would pack women like me off to the sanitarium and let us recuperate under the careful administration of Valium.

Is that too much to ask?

I don't think that I am asking for too much. I just wanna be normal. And organized. And beautiful. And intelligent. And to get off this emotional roller coaster.

It's not too much. I know it's not.

Oh, stop laughing and pass the Valium!