Exercises in Futility

A multi-dimensional title to be sure. I had grandiose plans of daily journaling. I had even grandiose-er plans of being a rational human being. And yet I find myself failing dismally on both counts.

Assumption is a funny thing. The only means of making a decision is to make an assumption about the outcome. The whole "nothing in life is a guarantee" holds true for most things, so we do the best we can to project a reasonably formulated cause-and-effect scenario. If I make this decision, this will be the outcome. Even for those unexpected events, we have some sort of pre-ordered sense of how it will all go down. If this happens, then this is how I will respond (physically at the very least, as I am intelligent enough to know the absolute intangibility of emotional response.)

Anyway, I have decided that assumption is a psychologically catastrophic practice. For example, I -- and most everyone else out there -- assumed that life would be a manageable undertaking. And it is no such thing. But Ok, you get to a point where you can accept that. It happens sometime in the mid-20s I would venture to generalize. Of course, that hurdle isn't jumped until you've gotten screwed over, been lied to, endured countless disappointments and have accumulated enough emotional baggage to fill the cargo hold of a 747. But there -- it's out of the way. So next you begin the tedium of daily life with the knowledge that while it's unpredictable and not likely to go like you thought in the big picture, at the very least you can handle small steps and occasionally larger ones.

It goes like this. You narrow down the range of possibilities. You lay out the logical results based on a careful analysis of all circumstances both immediate and extenuating. Then, based on the laws of probability, you choose the one that will a) bring you closest to your goal, be that what it may and b) do so in a manner that is bearable even if it is not idyllic. And the reason you can handle Part B is because you have the shining, glimmering mirage of Part A. And as my mom said to me in a conversation today, the idea of something is always so much more romantic than the reality. I.e., Part B looks a lot better when viewed through the fog of Part A. I suppose it's true with everything. Getting married, having kids, careers, etc. And while that's true, I somehow really, really thought I could get through this school thing without falling apart.

And yet, I can't even manage that. I knew that supporting my husband's decison to come back to school (emotionally if not financially), would be hard, especially with three kids. But good Lord. This is ridiculous. I expected mind-altering poverty, but I did not expect a complete loss of self -- that was supposed to come as an after effect of childbirth. Instead, I am raging against this academic environment because I feel worthless and menial in the midst of it. I swear if I have one more conversation that revolves around "Well, my husband says..." or "my husband is studying this topic...." I will scream. I despise vicarious existence and yet it's all I have in order to feel relevant. I think it's some sort of regression into adolescent angst. I can't control my own life, so I'm rebelling against the restraints -- but unlike sneaking out of my parents house, I'm the parent here. There's no one to rebel against except myself. I made this choice to support his decision -- and he's living the dream. Ain't that a bitch.

I suppose the answer is to swallow the pill and keep waking up every morning in spite of it. I am having a hard time living my life for other people, because really, what's the point? And how do I raise daughters to believe that they can be anything they want to be when their role model is someone who is anything but what she wants to to be.

Well that was melodramatic.

Ok, I am going to find an activity that will, ideally, give me a semblance of mental health. Like cooking dinner. *%&$&.