Stuck in a Moonage Daydream

I'm afraid of moving forward, which is exactly why I do it every day. I think that's what drives our nostalgia and love of the past. It has to be fear of the future with a nod to our own existential debate. Often internal, and more often lived out each day.

I wonder why I'm here a lot lately. I wonder why I keep going. I keep writing waiting to find some sort of epiphany, that one idea to make everything right, to make everything ok. I keep writing to find that connection, the thing I'm going to love doing, the person that says I made a difference for them, the end to my worries.

I lay here in bed thinking of all the things I want to do for myself. I'd love to get a hair cut that didn't involve 5 minutes in my bathroom with a plastic trash can and a pair of hair shears that came with an electric trimmer as a bonus. The idea of a beautiful hair cut and maybe even some color is so distant to me. I could really use a massage, but time eludes me when I have a list a mile long of things that need to be done. Its benefits open-enrollment week. My checkbook desperately needs to be balanced. I haven't had eggs in over week in the fridge. Our library book are due. It's a holiday tomorrow. I'd stick to painting my nails, but the pain in my hip is so sever, the thought of bending over to do my toes is frightening. I think next week I finally go back to physical therapy. Time I made myself carve out because I cant afford to be in pain.

I quickly have to stop thinking about all the things I want to do for myself because I immediately feel selfish. I still have to pay school fees and do school shopping soon. I still have a car in desperate need of breaks and a tune up. The dog needs shots next month. I have a growing list of things I need from the store.... face wash, toothbrushes, toilet cleaner, my husband's vitamins.

I find reasons to stop thinking about doing things for myself. My hormones are making me lose my hair, so what's the point of getting it cut or dyed. My body hurts too much to have a massage. And my nails are just silly. I don't need them painted to wash dishes and do laundry.

That's how I move forward. I keep going for everyone else. I can easily leave myself behind. I'll eventually catch up, getting my hair cut in the bathroom next week and putting on some make up to hide the old familiar pain that refuses to go away for long. I'll catch up with a bottle of wine in the cart when I'm school shopping. I know I'll end up putting it back since I'm sure I have some to drink at home.

I have plenty of time to catch up. The only calls I get are telemarketers and my text tone sounds with Papa Murphy's daily deals and my Walgreens prescription reminders. I can get up and organize my desk and pay bills since I've let myself daydream too much already. I wanted the beach or a movie date or day trip but I have plenty here in my faux leather desk chair and the pile of important things that need to be filed this month.

I guess I should go get something done instead of wasting the day.