The Five Strands of A Sedentary Empress

One Direction To Go From Here

It comes, it goes, it lingers in the shadows while laughing maliciously, it reappears when it's bored and in need of a bit of whatever I have left.

Things improved a little last night, after I'd napped for a bit. I always find that sleep has a weird power, in that it is either restorative or has the strength to bring me down further. Mostly, it gives me a clean slate, and I move away from whatever conscious or unconscious thoughts were pestering me to the point of self-pity or outright depression. When I am fresh and new, I let myself contemplate the things which seemed so important before I banished the world with a quick fling of the body into bed, and the pull of the covers up and over. Yesterday, it was the self-loathing, that weird compulsion I have to think of myself as a horrible excuse for a human being. It isn't entirely preposterous either, I know I am riddled with bad points. Yesterday, I was a sad sack, and they are always bothersome and difficult to like, much less love. I was mopey with heavy eyelids and I had only one-word answers to the most probing of questions. I know I was not tolerable, and what's worse is that I understood why I wasn't. If I were looking at me from the outside, I'd look in a different direction. My sort of affliction is contagious.

Last night, while watching the news, Michelle Obama's face came on the screen and my wee one looked up and said 'Hey, that's Barack Obama's wife, right?'. That she is not yet four and knew this was not what surprised me. That she would watch the Canadian news and recognize no one means that we don't know enough about what's happening around here, and we should.

Today, when I went downstairs to say good morning to her as she watched 'Dora the Explorer', she seemed decidedly indifferent to me. I pushed it aside and attributed it to her fascination with the Spanish speaking character on the television. Later, after the show was over, she announced she was going up to get herself dressed, and when asked her to come to me first, so that I may hug her, she ignored me. She wasn't gracious about it, sticking her nose in the air and clenching her jaw before walking toward the staircase. When I called her again, I was ignored again. Finally, I bellowed, and I told her to come over to me straight away. She obliged, but I could see she was doing it because she had to, not because she wanted to. I did not hug her, but asked her what was wrong. She would not look me in the eye, and said nothing. Finally, I did what I thought I'd never do: I told her to get out of my sight and not speak to me for the remainder of the day. Can we say, 'overeact much'?

When she wanted a snack, she was communicative but I refused to give her one. M. backed me up once he learned about the 'attitude problem', but I could see he was also amused. When she was rude to him, he sent her to her room. I sat in the chair feeling...lost. The one person on the planet whom I thought would love me no matter what has taken on the less favourable characteristics of a teenager at the tender age of almost four. I could tell she thought I was annoying, and as much as I hate to admit it, it cut.

I often feel unliked in my circle. I feel like others think I'm too much work, that I'm not easily appeased and that the effort would not bring any rewards. In my head I am easy to figure out, but occasionally I let myself look at what I'm putting out there without being too biased. When my feelings are hurt, I am a either a pouter or I am vicious. It really depends on the day and who is doing the hurting. The whole messy business with my sisters stems from the fact that they think I am lazy (I think, anyway), that I don't put effort in the things that matter to them. They don't understand my values, and because of this, they feel I am perpetually 'wrong'. That hurts, you see, because I am neither lazy nor wrong. I see things differently, that's all. When my mother yelled at me for not attending Thanksgiving dinner this year (again), I had to defend myself by letting her know that I have been present at every birthday, every christening, and that it is rare for anyone to come here for a visit. She countered that I haven't been part of the holidays in 'forever', but I shot back that we are talking about turkey, and that there isn't much more to this particular holiday. I know that they've all been talking about it, and it bothers me. Just because I am not willing to travel 250kms with an apple pie in my lap doesn't mean I don't care about them. I just did that trip three weeks ago for my nephew's birthday, and no one ever says 'thanks for spending the gas money to be here, or for having to make the long, boring trip just to eat a piece of cake'. I am the lazy one who doesn't want to be a part of things in their eyes.

I know it's not true. I know I care about my family and that I also care about holidays a great deal, but the tension I feel when I visit, and the pressure I feel when I haven't achieved perfection in their eyes tends to weigh me down. It used to be that we'd all get together and eat turkey dinner, drink wine and laugh, but the bizarre need to have the Martha Stewart table setting with the colourful and creative centrepiece is too much for me. I feel like a failure every time I don't measure up, and frankly, it takes the joy out of being there. I get enough of that from, well, myself.

The easy things become hard when I know others are watching how I do it.

We're supposed to go pumpkin picking this afternoon, but with the way my daughter has begun acting, I'm not really looking forward to it. That picture-perfect orange-coloured afternoon I'd been planning on will not be so perfect. I will know it the whole time, and it will leave a black mark. I am feeling like I'll never amount to anything, that I will always be someone that others 'have to' love, rather than love freely. I am feeling like I understand their side of it, just as much as I don't. The more desolate I feel, the harder it is to get up and get going, to get dressed and brush the teeth. The more they look at me with eyes meant to move me, the more I feel compelled to stay where I sit.

It really shouldn't be this complicated.

I will get dressed, though. I will go for the pumpkins. I've always liked them, with their fat, swollen happy bodies and their optimistic orange. They make me warm just by looking at them, and pumpkin pie has always been my favourite.
Even when I am in the middle of hating everything about myself, I recognize the value in a good piece of pie.