Life is strange, one moment you are starting the day off in a pink stretch limo surrounded by champagne and drag queens, the next minute you are at Bass Pro Shop examining jerky and licorice waiting for the boys to get done at the shooting gallery.

How does one run the gambit like that? Also the conflict of weird parental guilt that seems to wash over me every time I make the summer exchange. I spend most of my life worrying about this guy when he’s gone and when he’s here that I’m a disappointment and a failure to him.

It had been my plan to be fit, diet clean, shit together by the time he got back. All I really accomplished was spending an impressive amount of time drinking and watching Netflix with the occasional spurts of productivity and some yin yoga sessions peppered in there for flavor. I’m a no better or worse person then when he left. I’m still his flawed mother. The mom that gets up for Drag Brunch and down for cleaning and accidentally obliterated by 7% beer in the evening, but hey the laundry is done and the dishes are washed.

Is that going to be enough? So waking up at midnight with the impression that I need to be there for him, be there for myself. Make mistakes, correct, make mistakes, correct – ad nauseam. Like a game of Magic the Gathering.

Intention: Forgive myself. Resist nothing that occurs today.

Gratitude: I’m grateful for a drama-free exchange, for my awkwardness but willingness to participate in life this weekend. For my shame and guilt to bring me back on task.

In the constant battle with self, it seems to me that I either have too much time for rumination or no time at all for self reflection. One moment I’ll be having a night where I’m circling the drain of an existential crisis. Bemoaning the fact that I wasted so much time in my youth without knowing the true value of relationships, my true value, the preciousness of time and the next minute I’m trying to string together two seconds to just get gas and groceries.

Blink and you’ll miss it.

I was feeling like I had an ocean of time to myself and now it’s running out and my child will be back soon from summer vacay. We will be off to the races, school, birthday parties, work, holidays, the whole nine yards.

Maybe I was just hoping for a little summer revelation. That this summer I would have solved the self-puzzle. That 60th book, the umpteenth crisis, and this is all when things are going relatively smoothy. The horror of it all.

I’m going to bring back the gratitude portion of these blogs because I have to remember that there is always something to be grateful for – even when you are panicking.

Gratitude:

I’m grateful for the weekend visit with my sister and the injection of youth and wonder provided by her 4-year old. Kids that age are like little house elves, full of wonder and mischief and ridiculously huge senses of self. It’s all about crayons and crackers, cartoons and milk. Blankets and stuffies. All it takes to make them happy is to splash in a pool for an hour.

Intent:

Today I will relax and give myself time. I won’t panic because everything won’t get done and that’s okay. I’ll do what is in my power to do. Relax and the rest will be okay. Be gentle and know that I am enough. I am doing enough, I am being enough.

Ahhh… I have been dabbling in a little experiment of self promotion this morning. On the prodding and gentle suggestion of my talented sister to take myself public on the Instamagram. I’m deeply afraid and unnerved by self-promotion. Like a 7-year old approaching the school auditorium stage for the first time and feeling the scarlet bloom on her cheeks. I don’t want to be seen. Also blogging. I’ve been blogging in secret on here for days. Do I want this to be seen to? No…or more like hell naw!

I mean I’ve always prided myself by my main super power of being able to stay far into the dark recess of a cave called total incognito. Isn’t that an X-Man character? Incognito. Her powers are that of total and utter anonymity. Strong enough to be able to comment on a reddit thread without her true identity ever being discovered!

It’s weird right? 

At the end of the day, I’m deeply afraid of being judged and of being finally found out as a fake or a fraud. There is a term for this, Imposter Syndrome and a million people have it.

Being judged is a part of life. We are being judged all the time, we are judging animals. I judge people in the grocery store every time I shop. It’s like my favorite thing to do. I scan their carts and make calls about their life based solely on the brand of juice and crackers they are buying. Try to deduce if they have kids or live alone. How their diet is going (or if they’ve just given up to a tide of emotional eating – another sacrificial lamb to the Gods Ben and Jerry). The carts I enjoy the most are the minimalistic ones: vodka and toothpaste, meat and body wash, beer and creamer. I do especially love a good champagne and flower cart (hey get lucky for me – winks).

So in a long distance roundabout way, what I’m trying to say is… it’s time for me to get over being judged. It’s happening anyway, whether I’m hiding or not. I’d ask you to be kind but that probably won’t happen either. So Instamamagram… judge my paintings… just my face, judge my #hashtags and maybe #stumble onto this blog – don’t be offended if I’m emotionally exposing my private parts to the public.

I may just be brave enough to share.