I feel like I’m slowing drowning.  My son is five and recently started school.  My daughter is three going on sixteen.  My husband started his MBA classes this month.  Another two years of school and loans.  I still haven’t put photos in the picture frames I hung two years ago.  

TWO YEARS AGO.  

Every time I look at those frames I get the same flip-flop feeling in my stomach and I hear the same internal self talk I’ve been hearing for years now:  

“You better start doing something with your life.  Find a cause to devote yourself to.  Start a journal before you forget these memories.  They’re only young once. Organize your photos for crying out loud!  Start exercising before it’s too late.  Eat better so you can stick around longer.  Stop getting so tied up in politics because it only makes you angry. The countdown is on: you’ve got T minus a fleeting number that’s getting shorter each day your alive before you turn 40.  FORTY. Who turns forty?  That shit’s only supposed to happen to parents, right?  Oh, wait…*I’m* a parent now, too.  Yikes.  Why are we all here, anyway?  What IS all this bizarre matter and consciousness we call the universe?  Why do bad things happen to good people?  Does any of this really matter anyway?  And also?  Lest you forget: you need to simplify, simplify, simplify.  If you hadn’t failed home ec in high school you might be able to cook without burning something every time.  If only you hadn’t skipped so much class!  You need to make a menu plan like these other moms who have it together.  You need to get on top of this saving money thing like other moms who have it together.  You need to, you need to, you need to fill in the blank here like other moms who have it together.”  

Sigh.

I need to meditate for a bit.  

Then I need to put some photos in those frames.