Hello, November 9. You, this morning, are not as sparkly as I intended you to be! You were supposed to be Fresh, Clean, Exciting, and Inspiring. What happened?
I guess yesterday happened: I didn't do all the things I said I would commit to in my last post. Exercise especially. And I got frustrated last night because I was trying hard to make my family happy and they were too tired and so grumpy. I very much wanted them not to be grumpy and I think I was was looking for some gratification from being a "good" mom.
But luckily, November 9, I am writing to you and so I get to think about that need last night. No one was actually asking me to be a good mom. No one was questioning whether I was a good mom. But I needed validation because I've been feeling shitty about myself. What could I have done instead of washing floors, doing laundry, ordering everyone's favourite pizza, and obeying Georgia who wanted to watch The Aristocats (which I love but have seen about 40 times)? I could have done 15 minutes of gentle exercise (it has to be gentle at the moment because I am dreading it and I know slow is the way to go when I'm feeling like that). I could have progressed in my reading of The Strangers – or not, because I am not loving it yet after 100 pages or so. I could have instead picked up the copy of State of Terror my mom lent me. I have read a couple of pages and it seems almost shockingly obvious but also maybe fun and easy – I could use a read like that.
Interesting, just there: I felt an urge to offset my non-love of The Strangers with the fact that I loved Vermette's last book, The Break. I did not like saying that I was having trouble getting into her latest. But that is not an awful thing to say, actually. And I can assure you that Katherena Vermette is not reading this blog and so there is 0% chance I will offend anyone. The very chance, however, was rattling. Good to know. Something to think about.
The need to be liked: such a trap and I'm sure it's not only me who falls into it. A couple of days ago I read this fascinating profile by Eve Wiseman in The Guardian of comedian Kathryn Ryan, who does not give the tiniest fuck about what anyone thinks. Wiseman writes,
"There are moments during our conversation, while [Ryan's] tiny dogs snore gently on my lap and her large cat (she’s called Sara Pascoe) prowls across the kitchen, that I find myself speechless. Not at what Ryan says so much, but with a sweet and awe-filled shock at how little she cares about what people think of her. Trolls, hecklers, critics, people who reel at the way she paints a picture of single motherhood in pastels and glitter rather than concentrating on exhaustion or shame. We keep coming back to this, the 'audacity' of it, and she shrugs. 'If I’m entertaining people then I don’t mind what Linda from Leeds wants to write about me in her blog.' I wait. 'I think it’s unrealistic to hope that everyone’s going to like you or even that everyone is kind. Many people are unkind, lots of people love to take offence. Lots of people are wrong, and that’s fine with me.'”
It's a great profile and here's the link to it.
As much as November 8 sort of confused me (I wanted it to be about breaking perfection but then I realized just writing about it made me even more goal-oriented and crushed when I didn't achieve what I wanted to), there were many moments I loved. First of all it turns out that it's helpful to write here and realize what I'm thinking. I don't really know what I'm thinking a lot of the time unless I write it, and I can get muddled and uncertain as a result. Second, I sent my post yesterday to my parents, who are so supportive of me when I go through a crappy mental health period. This is what my dad wrote back to me. The context is that I dropped off some yummy Nicastro meatballs at their house on Sunday. His nickname for me is Kinks. This is not weird. It comes from "Kiley Kinks." It's cute I tell you! Anyway:
"Kinks,
I don't know how to comment without joining Facebook or one of the others, but I do know three little things that made my day today:
1. Meatballs
2. Meatballs
3. Meatballs"
That email says a lot about how good a writer my dad is. One word, repeated three times, to express gratitude for me being thoughtful and him appreciating it, and subliminally, just a nod to where we are in our relationship (very good). "Meatballs." Anything else would have been too much. I'll post some of my dad's other writing here soon.
Speaking of writing, here is the very neat thing I discovered today and learned from (one of my daily goals). It's Angie Abdou interviewing one of my favourite writers, Michael Winter. He has excellent advice, and Angie is a great interviewer.
(PS: If your kids are in hockey, which in Canada is a highly weird sport for kids to be in because it can be so fraught and fun and frankly dangerous, Angie's Home Ice is a must-read.)
Ok that's going to do it. Except for my intention I was supposed to think about for 10 minutes this morning. I intended to write and I did.
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