If you want to know how I’m handling life, look in my purse.
Some days I am completely on top of my game. The kitchen is cleaned after every meal; kids make it to bed on time; laundry is washed, dried, folded, and put away all on the same day; I work out, eat right(ish), and refill my water bottle a few times during the day.
On these days my bills are paid early, my change purse is cleaned out, and my purse is tidy. It’s light and the zippers and clasps are fully battened.
Other days I’m… not anywhere near my game. So not. The only reason the kids get to bed before 10:00 is because we skip baths. Again. They might have brushed their teeth. I don’t know – I wasn’t really paying attention. Laundry is either piled up awaiting the washing machine or it’s been sitting in the dryer and every laundry basket we own. The only liquid I drink sometimes is coffee and alcohol and I see the fact that I waited until after I get home from work to start the last one as a sign of serious restraint.
On days like these my purse is a storm and nothing I can do will keep it clean. I can find a moment of motivation or disgust and throw out the old receipts and popcorn kernels, the hair ties and kids Happy Meal toys, but tomorrow it will be a container of chaos again.
It’s a reflection of my mind. Of my ability to deal. If I’m floundering in my daily life, my purse becomes a catchall for the disaster I’m wading through. The disaster I feel like I am. A visual representation of my muddied mind.
I’m not a hot mess during these times. A hot mess sounds frantic. Brimming, bubbling, blasting. No. It’s more that I’m discombobulated. Like moving and thinking through quicksand. Like trying to run in a dream. Crawling and clawing at the ground trying to move forward. “Just MOVE!,” you scream at yourself. “Why won’t you move??? Try harder!!!” But no matter how much you claw and kick and grab, no traction can be gained.
I wish I could pinpoint what causes the spiral. Hormones? A late-night Downton Abbey marathon? A missed workout? The phase of the moon? I don’t know what it takes to get me back to the game instead of sprawling in the dugout. But I know it will happen. Eventually.
Sometimes during my unable-to-run dreams I will realize I’m dreaming and that no matter how much I try to fight for momentum I will remain stuck. It’s usually then that I’ll either wake up or switch dreams. So I’m learning that when my purse starts to look like the garbage can at a CVS, that it’s time to assess the situation and stop. Even in actual quicksand, the survival tip is to quit thrashing, stay calm, make small movements, and lay back. Grab something to help with the pull up and out. All is true for mental quicksand too.
