Suburban Blues

It is that time of year. Time for my suburban blues to lift their veil of secrecy. I have suffered from seasonal depression all my life. There is something about the darkness and the fraud of the Christmas holiday season that gives me the blues. Its not that I am a holiday hater. My mother was always very entertaining with her wreath earrings, her Mr. and Mrs. Claus table decorations, her saturated rum cake paired with her beer cheese. My mom had a flair for the dramatic suburban arts.

 I, on the other hand, have always been of a darker nature. I liked Halloween and Tim Burton movies. I liked to marinate in my misfortune and wear it around the house. Just wait- some day I will get out of here and make it on my own! I will wear black nail polish and black clothes every day! Ha! The suburban blues- if I can't fit in I will not conform because you don't like me anyway so fuck you first.

As an adult, I have a new version of the suburban blues. Trying to make EVERY MOMENT magical is too much pressure for this non- conformist. I have these three little lives depending on me to prevent enormous therapy bills in the future. Valentines- cards for every class mate. Easter- multiple egg hunts. 4th of July- fireworks and picnics Halloween- costumes, parties sugar overloads. Thanksgiving turkey massacre. Christmas- the joy of the hunting and collecting of the perfect gifts they will forget two weeks later. This- and a smattering of birthdays, cultural holidays, other kids birthdays can make a mother crazy.

Sometimes I feel like screaming- hey doesn't anyone realize I AM A JUNKIE. I love to complain. I do. I love it. I want to bury my responsibilities behind the shopping cart of broken dreams and return to my natural state of atrophy. This life has challenges. I am required to talk to people and actually listen to them. I am required to give a fuck on a daily basis. I am required to be present in my life.

 I let my kids play t-ball in the house. I paint my daughters fingernails. I let my son eat goldfish crackers for breakfast. The solution is written in crayon on my walls. The cure for the suburban blues is embracing the moment without judgement.

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