i'm like, so happy

I think of ants. Or soldiers. Or early 1900's workers. People who knew only to wake before the sun, clean, eat, work until their bones could slide out the skin and the muscle was tender and torn, arrive home at sundown, eat, clean, talk, smile and pinch children, sleep. I think of them and how much easier it is, what Mr. Curry and I are doing, how much luxury we have to make our journey more comfortable. I used to be addicted to comfort. Carrie Fischer says in her book Wishful Drinking that all addicts are obsessed with feeling comfortable from a young age. I was always mortified by anything difficult. Anything hard. I thought I had no strength- so wrong; I had no esteem for myself. I thought I was a dirt clod. An ugly dirt clod. I scratched at the freckles on my pug face, sucked in my round cheeks, blushed furiously when my name was said out loud. pleasedon'tnoticemepleasedon'tnoticeme Strength, I had, but it was all being used for survival. I kept myself in the lowest frequency possible, so survive the long winter. If you are in a rowboat in the middle of the ocean with one loaf of bread, how many bites do you allow for each day? I allowed enough energy to wake, for school, for play, and even then, barely. I complained constantly of being tired and having stomachaches. When I was very small I was tormented at school. Once a little boy in my grade tripped me ( on the same playground where I once stood, stock still in the middle of recess, and had the slow horrible realization that every single child there would one day be dead ) and I broke my wrist. He tripped me on purpose! I don't remember an apology, or any trouble he had from it. -What I wanted from life was just to be comfortable. I obsessively thought about every single thing that made me feel comfortable, like soft cotton shirts, sheets, hot chocolate, cake, candy bars, sitting ( not standing ) being driven places, riding on a bike in gear down a hill, watching T.V., listening to music, lying on my back in the grass, looking at trees, floating in the pool ( not swimming ) falling asleep.

Life now is uncomfortable. It is loud, raucous, dawn to dusk, 24 hours a day, 8 days a week, it is my lunch break at work equaling one hour of a crying baby in a carseat, picking up various children and delivering them to various places and grabbing a burrito and heading back to work, it is dirty bathrooms and kitchens, it is laundry everywhere, it is two very sore backs, it is diminished sex, it is constant tiredness, it is brain fog, it is that frustrating kind of horny where you know nothing's going to happen so calm the hell down genitals! no one is coming for this fire! It is bad timing for talks, it is talking over shouting/crying/cooking/dogsbarking/phonesringing/children bellowing/music playing at 110 decibles on a it is falling asleep sitting up, it is saying sick sound system, Mom,God I'm sorry I forgot for the millionth time or I never got to it, I'm sorry, it is getting to a million things but still feeling crazy you forgot THAT ONE REALLY IMPORTANT THING It is cooking, picking up, nursing, 'just a minute' four hundred times a day, it is 'we'll talk later' it is 'maybe I'll check the calendar' It is Mr. Curry's broken pinky finger, sore back, torn up feet, 13 hour days, and taking Lola out for special time after work, it is weekends of cleaning and running errands and children and evenings where we are too tired to talk and a full time job and a full time life.

It is so uncomfortable. And it is the most soul and heart satisfying work I have ever experienced, and I thank God every day for all of the empty space that no longer exists inside of me, and the crowded house of my family.

I have never worked so hard or been so exhausted and frustrated and overwhelmed and rock solid with love and satisfied and determined all at once.