My eldest got out of his train bed on the wrong side, then I went and magnified his problems by letting him watch cartoons on TV. Not on Netflix, but on real TV. This always screws with him. It's like I've given him an everlasting candy-cane. He can't cope with the extreme joy. He's just so damn happy it makes him sad.
I know that because he subsequently follows me around stating "Me sad!" over and over. And somewhere along the way I've told him it's my job to make him happy. Not the smartest thing to come out of my mouth. The toddler admonishment, "You should make me happy!" really hits a Momma where it hurts.
Anyway, after the 18th rendition of "Me sad" I felt my left eye start to flicker. A telling sign that Momma's getting stressed. It flickered a time or two yesterday, but I attributed it to our post Christmas (and post house flood) finances.
I might also be borrowing my hubs' stress too. All week he's been spending hours at the computer desk - once the kids have gone to bed - chipping away at his Master's thesis. The first deadline is next Friday. So this weekend is going to meld into the week before and after for Momma. No TFI Friday for Momma this week.
That's okay. I'm as eager as Daddy is to get this monkey off his back.
But that's not what's making me a little more uptight than usual. As I opened my FB to see what was going on in my social media worlds I realized I was a little more concerned than usual about how last night's blog post had gone across to the 'masses'.
It's a bit late in the game to be having these bashful concerns. I mean, really, what's a drunken night in my oilfield days compared to graphic recounts of lochia, and efficient sex-capades?
Recently, someone on FB suggested Googling your name for shits and giggles. I know what comes up when I Google mine...
And for that technically savvy employment committee in my future, Momma's past exploits will be hard to miss!
In my head, there's always been some real cool peeps (obviously ex-SAHMs turned professional business women, who would probably never call themselves 'peeps'), on that committee saying wonderfully supportive things like,
"Oooooh, we have to have her! She's hilarious!" and "She's perfect! Just what we need on our team!"
But today - in my head - there's a stuffy old man in a suit. And a straight-laced old lady, saying judgmental and mean things like,
"She'll never do. We can't be associated with someone like that." and "Oh My! She should be ashamed of herself. I pity her poor mother and father."
I realize that it's schizo me that has made ALL these personas up, both good and bad. So even though there's a cool lady inside me (my inner Goddess) cheering my bad-ass on, there's also my sensible stuffy side (my Subconcsious) who wants to crawl into a hole and die every-time bad ass Jo clicks 'publish'.
I like my cool lady better. She's braver and more sassy. But is she jobless and starving in the future? I can't help but wonder. See, even though I'm a big advocate of openness and honesty- there's a limit to how much is appropriate to share in different situations, and particularly with your boss.
I'm pretty sure I've surpassed many of my readers' limits in the past. Did I just surpass my own?
Right now it's a moot point. I'm a SAHM, so I don't have a boss. And that's the way I hope it stays - at least for the next 5 years (or twenty), but what about when my kids have flown the nest? Will I regret my blogging over-sharing days. Or will I be glad I took this risk?
Didn't Sigourney Weaver start out in a porn movie, or is that just an urban legend?
What if I become a famous columnist with millions of readers who appreciate my humiliating honest stories? What if my writing happens to reach somebody who subsequently goes on to invent free energy and cure all diseases known to man and writes the last ever world peace treaty.....
Haha! Talk about reaching! As if poop and farts and drunken vomiting could do all that.
I still get headhunter emails littering my inbox on a daily basis, and I often wonder if they've Googled me at all. I think I know the answer to that.
I delete these emails without opening them. I'm done with the oilfield - I'm pretty sure, although I've said that before. I'm not an idiot (in spite of my blogging to the contrary), but the thought occurs that maybe I don't trust that the sassy artist will stand up to my Capitalistic conservative side, when push comes to shove.
Am I using my blog for self sabotage?
Am I using my blog for self sabotage?
I did something vaguely similar to get out of my first ever relationship. I committed the unforgivable (I broke up with him in an email first, so it wasn't 'technically' cheating, right?), so that there was no going back. He forgave me. Go figure. So I had to walk away the grown up way. It helped that I was getting on a plane to China.... (That story will have to wait for another time).
So here's my question of the day:
Would YOU give me a job?
*Wait. Don't answer that.*
**No, kidding. Really, I wanna know!**