I logged out for a few minutes...and then it was June. I try to remember something remarkable that's happened since then, but really, I don't know where I've been or what I've been doing.
Have you ever seen Primal Fear? It seems like your garden-variety legal thriller circa 1996, but it sticks. Ed Norton steals the movie playing Aaron, a naive altar boy, accused of the violent murder of the Archbishop, who claims to have no memory of the incident since he "lost time." But while Aaron checked out, Roy - one of Aaron's multiple personalities - apparently took over his body. We see that Roy is a violent sociopath who proudly admits to the murder. (If you haven't seen it, it's an excellent film and one of the original gotchas...but that's not really the point of this post.)
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| Image courtesy of deviantART. |
Like Aaron, I feel like I lost time. No, I can't claim any alter egos - criminal or otherwise. I just mean it seems like time passed and I'm not quite sure where it all went. (NOTE TO SELF: If I ever do take on another personality, it would be nice if she would handle the laundry and cooking.)
It's like when you plan to play "just one game" of Candy Crush and suddenly it's midnight. Or you open up Pinterest. Or when you blink and your kid is a teenager...and you're in your forties.
As we age, we realize that while time seemed to pass uber-slowly when we were young (especially during Calculus class), it zooms right by once you're older. All those little, old ladies who smugly told us to "enjoy it; it goes by so fast" when they saw us balancing screaming toddlers, strollers and diaper bags while double-fisting coffees - well, turns out they were right. (I still stand by my sleep-deprived, indignant glares, though.)
So, I lost time. I can't really account for it or explain it by citing anything remarkable that's happened.
Checklists slowly got checked. Or re-prioritized. Or forgotten.
Checklists slowly got checked. Or re-prioritized. Or forgotten.
No photos have been printed and put in albums; the laundry pile remains life-sized; the paper stacks have not shrunk.
We're still shuttling all over town; driving back and forth to school (even though they call it "camp" - who do they think they're kidding?); and navigating the same meltdowns, obsessions, rituals and needs that have redefined "normal" around here.
Everyone's basically been "healthy," getting to their routine doctor and therapy appointments, and to bed at approximately the right times.
We're still shuttling all over town; driving back and forth to school (even though they call it "camp" - who do they think they're kidding?); and navigating the same meltdowns, obsessions, rituals and needs that have redefined "normal" around here.
Everyone's basically been "healthy," getting to their routine doctor and therapy appointments, and to bed at approximately the right times.
I'm still volleying the usual professional emails, calls and tasks for work-related stuff...although I do wonder when and how I let the ratio of volunteer jobs so FAR exceed those that are paid.
So you see, I lost time, and I have nothing to show for it. I have little explanation for why I've been so disconnected. No "deliverables," PowerPoints, charts, graphs or reports to speak of. It can make a Type A, ambitious girl like me feel more-than-a-little underachieved.
I'm working on it though, and finding that I am embracing a new paradigm of "success." Victory around here is a tantrum-free, remembered-the-list, no-injury, made-it-on-time, gawker-free trip to Publix. In fact, that actually might have happened once over the past month while I "lost time." Even if I didn't report it on Facebook it was real, dammit! (Where's my medal?)
My point - which I really should remind myself of daily - is this: At the end of each day, if everyone's home safe, fed and content (or if it's been a bad day, let's go with everyone's still breathing and not incarcerated or committed), maybe I really have achieved my magnum opus.
Too bad I'm too tired to remember it.
Too bad I'm too tired to remember it.
