Ambivalent April

I’d like to say first, that I am never ambivalent about my daughters. When I stayed home with them ALL DAY EVERY DAY FOR THREE YEARS, I did feel ambivalent about full-time, never get a freaking break parenting. But never ambivalent about them. They elicit such primitive feelings in me I can’t imagine not being all wrapped up in. I just had a visual of a hot dog wrapped in bacon. Can’t be ambivalent about that, either. Salty.

Some days – today, for instance – I have a gigantic pile of work to do at my job, last minute gigantic spreadsheet to fill out with numbers and budgets. You may not know this, but the words “spreadsheet, numbers and budgets” cause hives to rumble on the surface of my skin. I am not a numbers gal. Words? Yes. Music? Of course. Art? Absolutely! Just keep thems nasty spreadsheets away from me if you don’t want a disaster on your hands. Why, in Gods name would anyone task me with such a hideous job? Luckily, I have an incredible co-worker who whipped out some serious focus and calm on the beast and pretty much finished it for me. That’s a lady who has a free lunch comin’ to her. If I had any money, I’d gladly hand it to her. Thank you, friend.

So, that was the morning of hideousness. Then, the afternoon was filled with a meeting on a subject I am absolutely devoted to. So the two hour meeting whizzed by and I felt energized, like my brain really worked on a project that means something.

Frankly, the two extremes – abject numbers hell vs. good for humanity – duking it out in my psyche left me plain ol’ ambivalent.

Honestly, I’d rather just stay home and paint and read and write all day, then meet the kids at the bus stop after school. I can’t quite figure out why this lifestyle is so violently out of reach for me. Why?

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2 Comments

  1. Re-read this because I dig re-reading your posts.
    And I am so mired in the every-stinking-day-without-a-break that I cannot comment on ambivalence. Cuz I *am* ambivalence.

    I’m not ambivalent about solo time with my six-year-old. He’s wicked fun. Or an asshole. Depends. But he’s not toddly nor infanty nor preschooly. And I dig this new age. Hope you do, too.

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