Sometimes I want to sing on the subway just to see who’ll join me.
Sometimes I spend a whole day at work not speaking to another person, instead listening to Citizen Cope or Corinne Bailey Rae or Maze or Stevie Wonder or Adele or Luther.
Sometimes I spend a whole day at work not speaking to another person, instead listening to Chuck Brown. All day.
Sometimes I look at the clock several times an hour willing 5:00 to show up faster so that I can get home to you. And then I get there and want you to stop talking.
Sometimes I am so afraid of death that it paralyzes me.
Sometimes I want to yell APPLES LOTION BABIES COCKSCUKER FOOTBALL on the bus.
Sometimes I remember that I have a bag of Skittles or Smarties in my purse and when I find ones that have fallen out of the bag to the bottom, I eat them even though I sometimes have to remove lint.
Sometimes, if I drop food on the floor, I still eat it.
Sometimes, I make myself pretend someone can see me so that I don’t pick my nose. Or eat food from the floor.
Sometimes, when I pull up to my house, I don’t want to stop; I want to keep driving.
Sometimes I don’t shower. For days.
Sometimes, when I encounter irritating consumers like the woman in Chipotle who kept saying, “Why do you keep asking what I want on it? Just make the taco”, I want to duct tape them to a wall so that they can silently observe how things work.
Sometimes, I am jealous of my children. They have so much time and opportunity and I feel like I’ve wasted so much time and opportunity.
Sometimes, at home and at work, when I’m in the bathroom, I’m not using the bathroom.
Sometimes, when someone I respect misuses a word, I feel sorry for her (and don’t bother to correct her, but always remember that she doesn’t know the difference between your/you’re.)
Sometimes, the desire to have another child is so intense I think I have pseudocyesis.
Sometimes I have a problem with authority, being told what to do, when, or how. It is difficult in professional situations to hold my desire to dissent at bay (but, it helps me understand my kids when they attempt to rebel.) I don’t mean “real” authority, mind you. If a tax lawyer or a doctor told me to file a certain way to save money or have a procedure to save my life, I would comply (after seeking other authoritative advice.) But there are few who have absolute power. In fact, I’m trying to think of another example now and, well, no. Okay, wait, there’s the president aaaaaaand nope that’s it. And I suppose I take more issue with being told what to do/not to do when I can’t see a direct disadvantage to doing it my way.
My prime example: traffic directors who are not traffic cops but just…directors. Most of our crosswalk signals now show the amount of time one has to cross the street. Once it reaches 10 and continues its backwards descent, an orange hand will also flash as in DO NOT CROSS, STUPID; YOU’LL NEVER MAKE IT. Yet, if it’s a relatively short block and no cars are coming, I just might go for it. I rarely chance it because there’s always the possibility a Metro bus driver will take that opportunity to plow through a yellow light. But, what I dislike is that there is a person in the crosswalk attempting to not only TELL ME I cannot cross, but to physically hinder me. Um, I have eight seconds left; I’ll be fine. If this were an actual police officer, sure, I MIGHT not attempt to cross, but I would still give him the You’re Wasting My Time face. Also, stop it with your stupid little whistle. You are an overzealous whistleblower; you can’t MAKE ME not cross the street, at least not do so and still have both your shins unkicked. When I see signs that say front end or back-in parking only, I seethe inside. How dare you tell me how to park! In fact, it makes me want to scream, “Under whose authority?” in my Captain Norrington voice. And yes, very trivial. So?
Sometimes I want to pack one bag apiece for my family, remove every penny from the bank, and just leave.
Sometimes I have day dreams about myself accepting writing awards.
Sometimes I have nightmares about random acts of violence affecting my family.
Sometimes I hate having a period.
Sometimes I hate that I can’t afford to do the things I want to do when I want to do them, even the insignificant, totally irrelevant to a worthwhile life things.
Sometimes I want a drink so badly I consider leaving work early to sit in a bar alone, read my book, and catch a virus from the peanuts being eaten by many unsanitized hands.
Sometimes the voices in my head are so loud I shake my head to make them shut up. It doesn’t always work.
Sometimes my daughter is so much like me it’s scary, yet thrilling and irritating and wonderful and shit she’s doomed and eye opening.
Sometimes I refuse to play puppy with the boy and he cries and I give in.
Sometimes my daughter hugs me every time she passes me and I roll my eyes over the top of her head.
Sometimes I am embarrassed by my body.
Sometimes I make extra of something I really like to eat, then don’t tell my children who may also like it, because I want it to myself.
Sometimes I am an awesome mother, friend, wife. Sometimes everyone can just kiss my ass.