I have been an orphaned princess, an eccentric sociopath, a gay man in the sixties, a curious girl obsessed with numbers and consumed by compulsions, a wife knowing my husband of all ages at all times, an alcoholic and abusive father quickly diving into insanity, and a myriad of uniquely passionate, even though sometimes heart-wrenching, lives.
Then… I am me.
“One would like to be grand and heroic, if one could; but if not, why try at all? One wants to be very something, very great, very heroic; or if not that, then at least very stylish and very fashionable. It is this everlasting mediocrity that bores me.” -Harriet Beecher Stowe
I occupy maybe too large a portion of my life musing on how the Mona Grays or the Clare Abshires resume their lives. How does Holden Caulfield spend his remaining days- in the sanitorium or as a school janitor locked in his own thoughts? I have learned to crave, seek, and survive both uplifting and poisonous “adventures.” I have thrived and yet have fallen into the abyss, and battled PTSD. I have transported my life from one coast to the other, been fighting addiction daily, and have uncovered a deep seeded need to care for those on hospice, but how does one cope with the “9-5 responsible life?”
I pay my bills. I walk my dog. I love my husband. I enjoy and respect my work. I am polite and well mannered. I small talk the cashier or the tourist passing by. I change my car’s oil. I bitch about then do my taxes. I call my mom every weekend to check in. I vent to my friendly therapist weekly. I vacuum and dust surprisingly often. I opt to wash our dishes by hand while throwing condescending glances in the direction of our perfectly operating dishwasher. I keep a notebook to remember the names of this patient’s dog or mother, of that doctor’s appointment, and the cat’s wet food or bread for which ever runs out first. I blame the chemicals and seizures for my lack of short term memory. Deep down in my soul, though, I am fully aware that what is plaguing me is the dreaded boredom. After all, it may be difficult to recall life’s sometimes uninteresting details.
Today is a Sunday. My least favorite day as my anxiety propels me to anticipate every catastrophic situation tomorrow may very well bring. So for today I choose to be passionate about sweeping the boredom under the rug. Monday will allow me to fall back in line of the march to work to laundry to pay the cable company and to set my alarm for the following day. Right now, I think I will return to the comforting giggles I know David Sedaris continues to promise.
Here’s to passion in pages!