Sunday, February 1, 2015

To My Fellow Chameleons

Today is the Super Bowl and I for one could care less. I am not a sports person. When I was in undergrad I didn't attend a single football or basketball game, and I attended a Big 10 school. I did not know the fight song and couldn't sing the school song at graduation. How horrible is that? I was also pretty lazy and apathetic at the time (perhaps now still), with a major case of senioritis which didn't help. My husband is (Thank you, Jesus) not a sports fan. He used to play baseball and occasionally when we had cable he would turn it to little league playoffs or some such for a bit. But overall, he could also care less.
I said to my husband today that I would watch sports if he cared about them. He found that quite laughable, and maybe it is just considering how much I care less about sports (and maybe that is being too generous; I dislike watching sports. It's boring. I know no rules. I went to a Cubs/White Sox game with a friend when I was in early college and I was bored to tears. It just went on and on. Sammy Sosa was right in front of us and I just wanted to go to sleep. Also, my friend and her brother took VERY detailed notes on some scorecard, so calling them fans wasn't doing it justice. Also- I was not able to drink legally then.) However, one thing that he isn't aware of too much- how big a chameleon I am.

Chameleon? What do you mean?

Follower. Adapter. Panty-waist spineless jellyfish. (I was looking for a specific word and googled thesaurus for follower and found that "toady" is one synonym. That just blows my mind in relation to the band- right? Anyone?) MILQUETOAST! Just came to me. Knew that sitting here mindlessly not doing cleaning would serve me adequately.

Anyway, I never thought I was such a follower. I was strong in my beliefs that I was a pretty good person, smart, a good Christian, when I was in high school. I was kind of a geek, boys generally avoided me, which was mostly to my benefit, as I'm sure that whole good-Christian-girl thing would've gone quickly had an actual living boy been interested in charming my panties off. I felt I was my own person and lived by my own rules, but in retrospect I'm sure most teenagers think they are their own person. I lived under very controlling parents and didn't do very much in the outside world, except walk around the mall with my equally sheltered friends.

Maybe to a degree I am my own person, but when it comes to love, I am such a follower.

Two of my exes were musicians. So I attended quite a few open mic nights, listened to indie music, read the appropriate periodicals, bought the correct gear for holidays, etc. One would have assumed I was a music fan (hell, I thought I was). And then I met the husband. He is not a musician, not a sports fan, kind of a video game nerd. I took up video games for a brief time, but I'm sooo less a video game nerd than I am a musician nerd. Living in a small northern town means relatively few bands travel this far north, husband with no musical interest means no desire to accompany me to concerts that involve a road trip, and children mean little to no free time or spending money to travel to aforementioned concerts that I would attend alone. Because the convenience factor is nil, I am not into music anymore. Granted I could listen to podcasts and download concerts and buy cds etc etc but I have no time. I have no money. I also have a weird apprehension (if you can call it that) to new music. I hate listening to music that I have never heard. Even was I was a crazy Incubus diehard fan, when they put out a new CD it would take me getting ready to go to their concert and wanting to know all the songs to get me to crack the case. I hate not knowing lyrics, not knowing if I like it or not, and wasting time listening to it several times if I don't like it. How weird is that? I might be the only weirdo with that disorder. But to get back to the point- he doesn't like it so I don't like it.

If he liked sports, I'm sure I would be hosting Super Bowl parties and making cupcakes in the team colors. If he was a golfer, I'm sure I would take up golf.

Maybe our problem as a couple is pure apathy in either direction. He wants to sit and do nothing. I want to do whatever he wants to do. When he wants to do nothing, I'm upset that he wants to do nothing. It's a vicious cycle.

I'm getting to be too existential in my old age. I over think everything. I think about everything. I also worry about the things that I think. I worry that I'm wasting my life. I think about all the things I could be doing- I could be like Taylor Swift and have a million friends and be involved and do everything and have a fantastic life. But hell that is a lie. I cannot motivate. I can't get myself to exercise on a daily basis. I can't bake fantastic creations for my family. I don't decorate our house. I don't have hobbies. I don't think this is normal. I'm convinced that if I only got enough sleep that I could do more but I'm starting to think that "more sleep" doesn't actually exist. I know I just have to go and do it, whatever the thing is that I want to do.

But what do I want to do? I need to meditate and find my inner purpose or something. How do you even go about doing that in your thirties? I can't Eat Pray Love myself to another continent or even to a day trip. I ask for signs from God but maybe He wants to point people in the right direction who are actively walking with Him. And I'm doing many things but actively walking is not one of them.

This is an incredibly rambly blog post. Mostly, it's like my thoughts. I have a lot, they are often disconnected or loosely connected, and they are usually a little depressing.

Did I mention my husband has been pushing me to join the military as an officer? Sure, I would love to serve my country and make a difference, but I have absolutely no desire to kill, to get yelled at, or to be deployed. I like to think go myself as an intelligent person, but who knows how smart the military would see me. I'd love to be in intelligence, but I might only qualify to work in the HR department or something menial. And to top it all off- having to run? Ugh. Really? Plus, 9 weeks away from my boys. Although to be honest, the thought of time to read by myself, write by myself, BE by myself sounds pretty fantastic. However, to be realistic I'm sure there aren't hours to myself every day to pursue the whole Hemingway thing. I could be wrong. But the husband is pressing this because I have applied to so many (so very very many) jobs and haven't gotten called, emailed, interviewed, nada. I wonder if there is some virus in my resume that deletes the ability to email me. I've considered this as a possibility. He feels disheartened that no one is out there caring. Ha- guess how I feel about it, buddy. Answer- NOT GREAT. But not sure if giving up my life for 4 years or more is exactly the next logical step. If any of you have answers- let me know.

I'm gonna go clean, since cleaning seems to be my only talent right now.

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