Saturday, February 9, 2013
I'm not sure what it is about sobriety that makes me want to cuss like crazy. And not like "Awwww, fuck." Like "Fuck yeah!" or "Holy shit!"
Yesterday on my run my ego started whining, "This is kind of hard. Shouldn't we slow down and get comfortable?" And I spoke up, "Fuck you! RUN! It's supposed to be hard!" Then I chanted "Fuck you, run fuck you, run, fuck you, run" until I finished my last mile really fast for me. And then I walked and beamed and felt great since I gave that ol' ego bastard a beat down.
Oh, life. Aren't you funny? When I got home the dogs were filthy. Beaming at the back door, hair all stringy from the mud. Only their heads we a little dry. And us with a broken shower dog rinser thing-y. Cue ego: "Oh, no. This is haaarrrrddddd. What will we do? Let's just avoid this situation." I was noticing a trend here. Things get hard, ego hands you the easy card. Or a wine glass. Fuck you. Deal.
Instead we made a dog pen in the dining room so they could eat, drink, and dry off. (Side note: Dogs still messy. You should see the dirt on the couch from it drying and falling off while Jelly slept. Holy shit.)
As an encore life had this one last thing while I was two minutes from finishing dinner: "Mom? Hampton just threw up all over the coffee table." (my oldest said this so casually I thought he was kidding.) I walked in to the room to look. Yep. Barf. Coffee table, rug. And then all over the kitchen floor where he tried to make it to the toilet. Ego: "Waaahhhhhhhhh!!! Whhhhhyyyyyyyy?????? Who will clean this up?" I actually considered for a brief millisecond calling my husband at work so he could come home and clean it up.
And then I handled it. Fuck you. Big girl boots. Clomp. Clomp.
Sobriety. It's this cool place where you suddenly get to decide. You decide you can do hard things, and then you do them. It's this place where you have to yell strong words like 'fuck' and 'shut the fuck up' to that whiny part of you that's such a damned coward. It's where I get to feel like a superhero because I do hard things like run fast, handle dirty dogs, and mop up vomit.
It's where, in the night, I can go to my little sick four year old son. I hear his tiny voice "Mommy? Mommy?" and I'm there. I'm all there. I can rub his back, and look into his olive brown eyes. Push back his dirty blond hair. Hold the trash can while he barfs. And I'm not drunk. I'm not drunk.
Fuck yeah. :)