Two-Sided Coin
I sat on the toilet for too long again. My legs fell asleep. I find that the only reading time I can find is while doing “office work,” as my brother humorously dubbed it many years ago, finishing up the “paper work.” I cannot seem to make myself get off when all I need to do is unravel the toilet paper and flush to be finished with the job. I get so engrossed in whatever I’m reading that I stay put for so long that I can’t feel my toes anymore.
According to an agreement with my brother to look past all of her liberal mantras, I’m reading a book by Anne Lamott. I am puzzled, both by her unparalleled gift for word pictures in which I can totally relate to, almost taste, what she is going through and, on the opposite side of the spectrum, her vulgar word choice and sacrilegious imagery (the "ham" of God, which takes away the sin of the world, for example) which slaps me in the face every other paragraph. Her writing is a bit of a two-sided coin, for me at least. With gritted teeth and rivoted fascination, I read on.
I realize, while reading Operating Instructions, I will never be an author. I am not fearless as she. She confesses to all gamut of emotions and thoughts, ones that could put her behind bars, let alone lose the respect of all who call her friend. She knows this, however, and is at peace with her world. I know that won’t be something I can do.
To me, it is like the art one finds in the gallery, the pieces where aspersion is cast upon whether or not it should be allowed to be called art. It reminds me of Marcel Duchamp’s upside-down urinal, “The Fountain.” What is profane should never be allowed to be called beautiful or iconicized as a work of art. It is rather the antithesis. Though I do not herald her gift as entirely profane, she can be so in spots. Still, I read on.
So I am the mother of two girls, and another child is on the way, which would partially explain why I have no time but the toilet to read. I am thirty-five and wondering why I got into this stage of my life so late. They say people are getting married and having kids much later these days, but all I can say is, I wish I had started ten years earlier, when my arms didn’t sag when lifted above my shoulders. I feel like Jack Butler in Mr. Mom. I’m losing all touch with reality. I’m watching Sesame Street and Dora the Explorer, and I find I’m beginning to hum along. What happened to me? I used to love reading and painting and writing and dancing. I was an elementary school teacher, busy with friends and work, and now I have conversations and ragged-edged “art” sessions with my 3-year-old that still leave me puzzled. I’ve become softer than soft. I don’t recognize the form of who I’ve become. I run to the computer to check e-mail or my blog for any word from the outside world because I know I’m losing touch with it. Most communication is within the confines of my home now. I find myself vexed that the doll won’t fit in the buggy or the marker lid is so difficult to remove. Why can’t they make easy-to-remove marker lids? I inwardly seethe, as my little one throws a whine fit.
I have become a mom, and there’s no turning back. I love it; I hate it. It has moments of pure joy and utter delight and moments of sheer frustration and disappointment. It also is a two-sided coin that has changed my life forever.
According to an agreement with my brother to look past all of her liberal mantras, I’m reading a book by Anne Lamott. I am puzzled, both by her unparalleled gift for word pictures in which I can totally relate to, almost taste, what she is going through and, on the opposite side of the spectrum, her vulgar word choice and sacrilegious imagery (the "ham" of God, which takes away the sin of the world, for example) which slaps me in the face every other paragraph. Her writing is a bit of a two-sided coin, for me at least. With gritted teeth and rivoted fascination, I read on.
I realize, while reading Operating Instructions, I will never be an author. I am not fearless as she. She confesses to all gamut of emotions and thoughts, ones that could put her behind bars, let alone lose the respect of all who call her friend. She knows this, however, and is at peace with her world. I know that won’t be something I can do.
To me, it is like the art one finds in the gallery, the pieces where aspersion is cast upon whether or not it should be allowed to be called art. It reminds me of Marcel Duchamp’s upside-down urinal, “The Fountain.” What is profane should never be allowed to be called beautiful or iconicized as a work of art. It is rather the antithesis. Though I do not herald her gift as entirely profane, she can be so in spots. Still, I read on.
So I am the mother of two girls, and another child is on the way, which would partially explain why I have no time but the toilet to read. I am thirty-five and wondering why I got into this stage of my life so late. They say people are getting married and having kids much later these days, but all I can say is, I wish I had started ten years earlier, when my arms didn’t sag when lifted above my shoulders. I feel like Jack Butler in Mr. Mom. I’m losing all touch with reality. I’m watching Sesame Street and Dora the Explorer, and I find I’m beginning to hum along. What happened to me? I used to love reading and painting and writing and dancing. I was an elementary school teacher, busy with friends and work, and now I have conversations and ragged-edged “art” sessions with my 3-year-old that still leave me puzzled. I’ve become softer than soft. I don’t recognize the form of who I’ve become. I run to the computer to check e-mail or my blog for any word from the outside world because I know I’m losing touch with it. Most communication is within the confines of my home now. I find myself vexed that the doll won’t fit in the buggy or the marker lid is so difficult to remove. Why can’t they make easy-to-remove marker lids? I inwardly seethe, as my little one throws a whine fit.
I have become a mom, and there’s no turning back. I love it; I hate it. It has moments of pure joy and utter delight and moments of sheer frustration and disappointment. It also is a two-sided coin that has changed my life forever.
Comments
Your voice is really natural. I can almost hear you speaking it as I'm reading. It sounds like you're trying to get your self to dig deeper and deeper. But great job.