Lorelai: I think what you really need to do today is wallow.
Rory: Wallow?Lorelai: Oh yeah. Get back in your pajamas, got to bed, eat nothing but gallons of ice cream and tons of pizza. Don't take a shower or shave your legs or put on any kind of makeup at all. And just sit in the dark and watch a really sad movie and have a good long cry and just wallow. You need to wallow.
I am sitting here with some delicious coffee (and plenty of pumpkin spice syrup) on a lovely, quiet Friday morning. The birds are chirping, Gabe is already down for his nap, and Mike is still in bed.
And, yet, despite all this loveliness in my life, I can't help but shake a feeling of melancholy. A vague feeling of sadness or defeat. I'm not sure why that is. I was going to turn my frown upside down with a post about my (many, many) blessings...but I think I need to embrace this glumness and funk.
Perhaps it's because someone signed up for an American Express card using my email, and I keep getting emails about 'Ashley Young's credit card.' WHO IS ASHLEY YOUNG?
Perhaps it's because I had to deal with customer service robot when calling about said card and email debacle. "What is your American Express card number?" "I don't have one." "You can't find it? Okay, we'll put you on hold while you look for it. You can also hang up and call back when you find it." Cue elevator music. "No! Argh! I said....sigh."
Perhaps it's because I feel like parts of internet sometimes remind me of the cruelty of high school students- people seem to be waiting for someone to fail or act stupid or do something wrong and then whisper excitedly about the person. At some point, don't we outgrow snark, judgment, and gossip?
Perhaps it's because there are days I just feel like I'm not good enough. Like, who am I to think I can photograph or design? Seriously? Have you seen how many absolutely amazing blog designers and photographers are out there? Not to mention this little blog. There are so many poignant, witty, and talented bloggers - bloggers who make you laugh, or think, or even tear up. What the heck do I think am I doing, trying to blog? I'll never be good enough.
Perhaps it's because I spilled an ounce of breastmilk in my purse at work and now my wallet, purse, and keys are coated in dried milk. Ew. (Pumping mamas? You understand what a travesty even an ounce of spilled milk is, am I right?)
Perhaps it's because for the first time in our marriage, we're not planning on moving after a year and I'm not sure what to do with my ninja packing skills this summer. (See also: probably why I'm on a major minimalism spree. Nothing is safe! I'm talking to you, entire closet.)
Perhaps it's because I have been wanting to bake and mail cookies to some people who are in need of a hug for about a month now and still have yet to buy chocolate chips to make these yummies (I am incapable of keeping a bag of chocolate chips in the kitchen without slowly nibbling away at them. Spoonful of peanut butter with a little handful of chocolate chips? Yes, please.) I am great at thinking of nice things to do, but not so good in the execution. In this case, it's not really the thought that counts. Shall I email someone and say, "Hey! I'm so sorry about your tough time. I wanted to send you cookies but I just can't seem to make the time. Let's say I did."
Perhaps it's because Gabe seems to be hungrier lately and is frustrated with me at bedtime since my flow is slower. I'm not sure what is going on, but I don't like it. Get it together, body.
Perhaps it's because we're doing the 30 Day Shred, and I'm already dreading it today. My death certificate will read: cause of death: level two, day three. I just know it. (Hey, wait. Maybe working out is linked to less milk? Welp. Better stop working out, right? I'll take one for the team.)
Perhaps it's because I burned my finger so badly (due to a act of amazing stupidity in which I forgot that I had just boiled water on the burner and touched the burner) that it's all hard and gross. Lots of layers of dead skin. Ew. I'd go to the doctor, but, well, our insurance isn't the greatest.
Perhaps it's because I feel bad for even writing about things that are making me blue when I know I have so many wonderful things in my life.
Perhaps it's because we're doing the 30 Day Shred, and I'm already dreading it today. My death certificate will read: cause of death: level two, day three. I just know it. (Hey, wait. Maybe working out is linked to less milk? Welp. Better stop working out, right? I'll take one for the team.)
Perhaps it's because I burned my finger so badly (due to a act of amazing stupidity in which I forgot that I had just boiled water on the burner and touched the burner) that it's all hard and gross. Lots of layers of dead skin. Ew. I'd go to the doctor, but, well, our insurance isn't the greatest.
Perhaps it's because I feel bad for even writing about things that are making me blue when I know I have so many wonderful things in my life.
