The Hot Mess and a Jelly Jar
It’s raining today, and the weather seems to fit my mood perfectly. This isn’t the norm for me. I am usually incredibly energetic, faking smiles so well that I even fool myself sometimes. In actuality, it’s just a well-crafted combination of caffeine and anxiety meds that allow me to function like a productive member of society. Hiding is safer, easier, preferable. People are draining, and I just don’t want to do it. I’m off work today, and I decided this morning that I needed a day of hibernating. I spend so much of my free time racing around in such a desperate attempt to make my life less chaotic that I never relax. It caught up with me earlier this week when I found myself driving to work, fighting the urge to turn around and drive back home so that I didn’t have to face any other human beings. Being chipper is exhausting. Going 120 MPH all of the time is exhausting. Existing is exhausting. I feel like the plant in my dining room that is always one step away from wilting, desperate for water or a little bit of sunshine.
No one pays any attention to me either.
The girls and I were planning a Michigan trip for the middle of June. My family is holding a celebration of life for both my grandmother and my cousin who passed late last year. I wasn’t going to make the trip, mostly because I am trying to save my vacation time for the latter part of the year, but also because the Michigan magic is no longer there for me. I’m not close to either side of my family, and I knew the trip would just stress me out. Other than my dad, there isn’t really anyone there that I really feel desperate to see. Since both sets of my grandparents are gone, these close knit families of mine are no longer a thing. It makes me wonder if I imagined the entire thing when I was a child. My favorite memories were from my grandparents’ backyards, extended family gathered and barbecuing and laughing together. Now, there is so much tension on both sides as wills are executed and belongings are divided up; my grandparents have been reduced to what they left behind. We avoid one another because the happiness that once existed dissipated with the trust. My grandma didn’t even want a service, probably because she knew that it would be a shitshow. It’s a tragedy to honor her life by dreading getting together. What happened to the family who once looked forward to seeing one another? I don’t even want to go now. I wonder if they will even notice my absence.
A couple of weeks ago, I found myself organizing my kitchen cabinets, hyper-fixated on pouring dry goods into little glass containers in an attempt to mirror a kitchen that I saw on Pinterest. I pulled a small mason jar from a shelf and as I turned it over in my hands, I caught sight of a peeling paper label on the front with “Tart Cherry Jam” in my grandma’s handwriting. She used to make the best jams. Her strawberry rhubarb could have won awards at state fairs. I put the jar back into the cabinet, leaving it as empty as the loss of her has left me.
We are planning a quick beach trip for Mother’s Day weekend, which will likely be a welcome escape from my everyday life. I want to read a really good book and soak up a little bit of sunshine and watch my kids splash and laugh in the pool. I want to sleep in and drink crappy overpriced hotel coffee, which is a small price to pay to be able to wake up to the smell of saltwater and the sound of the waves outside my window for a few days. I was never a beach girl, but maybe I can become one.
I have so much to write about right now, but I have promised to delay a lot of it. Like everything else, it will come in due time. I am trying to not make a mess of things the way that I always do. For now, I will just sit back and watch the rain tap at my picture window and enjoy the quiet.
