Eat, Pray, Eat Some More

Watching “Eat Pray Love” as I await the arrival of tonight’s work. 

I will no doubt be asleep before it gets here. But that’s ok.

 Fraggle will awaken and throw her full weight (and what will sound like six vases) to the floor at dawn. Which will be my signal to get up and do the work.  

What ever will I do without them at this time next month?!

I’ve been thinking. Which one does as one waits for demon children to go to bed around midnight. 

I’ve been thinking about the exact moment when I stopped believing I could have everything and started believing I can’t have anything I really want. 

When mom moved in eight years ago, I knew she’d never leave. So naturally you can see why I don’t believe the thud muffins upstairs will ever actually go. 

Today we were on one of our adventures and she said she’s so glad she doesn’t have to cater to some sweaty, hairy, gross man in the Florida heat. I held my tongue for a while. But later I said, well, no one ever asked me what I might want. 

Of course, her parents didn’t ask her what she wanted either, when they got sick for years on end and needed her there, too. 

I guess I just see how she lost her few healthy years. What if this I all I get too? Is this the way mine end?

I feel terrible for thinking and saying all the awful things in my head. She can barely move now. What if she becomes confined to a bed like Gram and my dreams of Europe go from on hold to deader than my soul?

I’m not blaming her that I don’t have everything I want. That’s my own fault. I let us waste money I could be retiring on. Rent, bills, Ross and eBay. She likes me home so home is where I am — not meeting my next soulmate, my next colleague, my next friend, my next connection to the life I still feel is out there. 

 I recognize that maybe I can have it all. Eventually. But I don’t really believe it, most days. 

I want to live in Georgia. In New York. In Italy. I want to marry an Italian man who agrees dual master bedrooms for each of us are mandatory for a healthy relationship. I want a fuck-it fund so huge, I could board a spaceship tomorrow and take four weeks’ paid vacation. Like, really take it and not wave goodbye to it every year. 

You get the idea. 

The movie is at the part where we learn the phrase “dolce far niente.” The sweetness of doing nothing. 

I’m pretty great at doing nothing, actually. I’d prefer the sweetness of doing everything that I started out wanting. And maybe the place to start is finding out how to say that in Italian. 

Anyone know what Jon Bon Jovi is up to these days? I was supposed to marry him by now. 

Hey, setting goals means remembering the old ones from when I had full intentions of getting the most out of this life, right?

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