Why does it seem like time is standing still when it is really flying by? I lost March; I can't remember what I did with it, but I do remember spending most of it in this same, unsatisfied state that I feel currently.
Last night I told Jon that I had an unrelenting case of the Blahs, and in return he said he thought I might be getting sick. I mumbled back at him, "Yeah, sick of a lot of things." I explained to him that I was sick of my commute, losing two hours a day that I'm not getting paid for; that I was sick of my job that just isn't challenging me anymore. I was sick of feeling weighed down by mortgage payments, car payments, grocery bills, and gas prices; I felt as if the world was out to nickel and dime me. I was sick of my hair, which hasn't been cut since I last mentioned it two months ago, and is now down to my elbows, because I don't know what to do with it. I was sick of being too tired. I sit at my desk all day thinking of playing tennis, or gardening, or walking the dogs, or playing catch with Jon when I get home, but by the time I've made that hour commute my eyes are glazed over and we're lucky if dinner gets made. Yeah, I'm sick all right, but not in the way he meant it.
I never had grandiose plans for my future, short of wanting to be a news anchor for a while, and that short-lived thought diminished when my mother sat me down to say, "You know, honey, you just don't have the look to be a news anchor." And while I see her point, because I probably had sweat and dirt stuck to my forehead from my last ballgame, I also stop every once in a while and ask myself, "What 12-year-old does have the right look to report news?" Of course, I didn't think that at the time. I just took her word for it and walked away thinking, "Okay, I'm not pretty enough to report the news, but maybe I can still marry a major league baseball player." Then high school came along, my fear of my peers worsened, and my "career" of choice was to become a hermit. I consider myself lucky that a job at the library practically fell into my lap, that I was lucky enough to meet my husband so young, and that he could make that future life as a hermit seem a little less appealing. If it weren't for those two occurrences, which happened nearly simultaneously, I may have been a very successful recluse.
I'm not sure what I can say in conclusion except that, after 5 years of turning it down, the option of moving out of Ohio is looking more and more attractive. We initially thought that we could never leave our family, but as I feel myself pulling away little by little, I'm beginning to think that we could manage it. I suppose my only requirements would be that we could afford the lifestyle we have here, which could be hard, and that there is an IKEA within driving distance.