This will not be an interesting post, I’m just doing this so I don’t go another month before writing something down. I will tell you that I have had many, many, brilliant ideas that I could write on this very electronic page. They come to me (the ideas) when I am walking to work, that is when I am the most brilliant. At all other times, the brilliance is more of a muted light. I also believe I am brilliant when I am sleeping, but I’m too lazy to write this shit down while I am asleep. So!
I have worked a lot, writing on the store blog, and it is mothers galore! It is almost surreal writing two posts a week about what people could buy for their mothers for mother’s day. I keep describing these mothers that I never had. There were no baked cookies, or homemade dinners or help with homework, she never gardened or sewed my clothes, she didn’t take me to games or sign me up for classes. I know it sounds like I’m bitching, I’m not, “my mom did the best she could with the tools she had.” It’s just surreal. It is also surreal because I am not a mom, and it is all making me feel bad for not being a mom. This isn’t the fault of all the moms in America. It’s some weird wiring going on in my head that I can’t shake because all I have been doing for the past two weeks and will be doing for the next three weeks is writing about the best moms in the world, and all the things that moms like, and all the things you should get moms, and how special and amazing moms are and, and, and, I’m like- ahhhhhhhh! My mom wouldn’t like any of this stuff. It’s nice, lots of other moms would like this stuff. I feel left out like I got jipped somehow in the whole, this is your happy life thing. If I have a baby will I be happy? God maybe, it seems like the answer from this perspective. Of course I’m poor so I doubt it, but if I had money then the baby would make me happy, or maybe just the money would make me happy. It’s a toss-up in the single mind, money and baby or just money? I can’t wait till this all ends, and I can remember that it is okay that I am not a mom, and that it is okay that my mom wasn’t really much of a mom either, not the kind of moms I write about anyway, and that it’s okay that no one will ever give me flowers for being alive and making life, except on my birthday, maybe, but not for the making life part. How sad I don’t make life, god, doesn’t that sound like I am awful or something? I can’t wait till I can finally look at moms again like women, women that happened to have chosen to have kids. Isn’t it weird how the role overpowers the person? Then again, these are all just my weird issues, and I can accept that, but it doesn’t mean I can’t wait till mother’s day is over.