I just caught a glimpse of myself in our downstairs bathroom, which, for the first time since Hubby and I bought the house, has light bulbs in all eight sockets. That's right. Eight bright, harsh compact fluorescent bulbs in a space barely bigger than a coffin. I do not advise close inspection of one's skin under such conditions. It's bad for the soul.
My brain, apparently, has not caught up with reality. In my brain, I am a cute, young looking chick. In reality, age is grabbing hold of my face. I saw wrinkles around my eyes, on my forehead. Life scars, writing my history all across my face. I saw age spots forming. I saw the emerging face of a woman, not a girl or a chick. I'm not ready. I'm not sure if its just the normal fear of aging/mortality, or the fact that these wrinkles are visual proof of my declining semi-fertility. In many ways, at 31, I still feel like a kid. I still have no idea what I want to be when I grow up. I'm still not a mom, except in my heart.
Hubby's gonna be unscrewing some of those bad boys, stat.
Oh, and once again, I'm writing instead of packing. Those wrinkles really threw me off course. I have to go to work shortly, and then this afternoon/evening (depending on what time Hubby can get away from the office) we'll be packing up the car and the dogs and heading to the NYC for the weekend. It'll be 18-20 hours in the car, and we plan to drive straight through, attend some family events, hang with friends, and head back Monday night. I think I might be crazy, because I'm looking forward to the drive. Hubby and I have driven all over the country, and we always have a great time chatting, listening to tunes, eating crap food. I think a big part of the appeal of road trips is that he's captive. I can talk and talk, and he really can't do much but listen, and comment occasionally.
I'm a little apprehensive about the social aspect, though. I'm not sure how the people who know what happened with our Cletus are going to react. If I see pity on their faces, I might puke. I always imagine these things to be worse than they are (except for when dealing with Hubby's parents. They manage to horrify me every time!) so I'm sure I'll survive, and allow everyone to go unpuked upon.
Okay, I still have a ton to do. Must. Get. Packing. And then feed animals, clean the kitchen, get ready for work, go to work, shop for snacks/roadtrip necessities, clean out the car, pack up the car, get an oil change (not sure how hubby thinks that's going to happen. This is Iowa. Shit closes early during the week) and drive across half the country. Wish me luck.