My Life is Pretty F#*king Great

Walmart is a necessary evil in my corner of the hills. Where else am i going to buy toilet paper in bulk, and deodorant at two for three dollars? But it has a way of sucking the life force right outta me. It drains me, makes me bitter, growly and ready to squinch my eyebrows together at the rest of the day. The cart feels 300 pounds and my soul is nearly empty by the time I leave. maybe on the way to a parking space a woman walks out in front of me and i have to slam on my brakes to avoid smashing both she and her toddler, and instead of waving a “Thanks for not smashing my inattentive self” she stands at my hood, cursing at me, trying to coax me out of the car so she can beat the hell out of me while her now-unattended toddler watches. maybe I see a thousand year old woman cart-check a man with his little kid so she can slide her overfilled cart into line before he can ring up his loaf of bread. Maybe while pushing my bulk toilet paper and cheap deodorant closer to escape, a carful of tweakers in a half-brokedown Corsica yell at me, over and over, about all of the different things they want to put in all the different places of my body.

by 10am, my day can feel ruined. There’s a carful of groceries to unload. A chihuahua that discovers, anew, each day, that indeed he has a voice and he is proud and will be heard! i’m not going to get by doing one load of laundry when there are clearly seven to be done, and the sink is full of dishes and the floor – that’s covered with matchbox cars – needs swept, and my husband thinks the hamper is a little pile next to the bed…

and my eyebrows are knitted. Because blah, that’s why. so i unload my groceries while washing a load of laundry and sweep the floor and try to get things done before i chance sitting down, and i go outside…

…to hang sheets on the line…

and the sky is blue, blue, blue as far as i can see. the clothesline is in a green yard, within sight of the horse pasture, and the horses are swishing their tails and grazing, behind me is a tiny little perfect house at the edge of a huge forest, and that’s where i get to live. there’s enough of a breeze that i’m beginning to smell Autumn in the air. the promise of it at least.

and inside the house is warm, and the cupboards are full, and the laundry and dishes and floors are dirty because family that was in town last week and i spent my time with them, cooking out, sitting around the firepit, going to the local fall festival with my husband and son to watch them spin themselves sick on rides while i ate fried food and waved.

and my son, he kissed me full on the mouth this morning and yelled “I love school!” before booking across the pavement, just a blur of Spiderman backpack and the orange soles of his shoes, running for kindergarten.

and my husband, of seven years come October, calls me things like “Mamasita” and “Pretty Pretty Princess” and yells things like “Shut up and write, why do you care if the dishes are dirty?” and links his ankle with mine when we sleep.

and there are pieces in my brain that magically crackle to life and create other worlds, and all i have to do is write them down. and show them to people if i want. and since i started showing them a few years ago, people started reading them. putting them in books with other stories. enjoying them. and the worlds and the words, they keep coming.

and my sister’s baby looks just like her, and she says “let’s spend time together,” and “i will read those chapters” and my mother and father sometimes have trouble walking, their hearts are so big.

and there are people stretched far and wide from down the road to across the globe that find me worth the time to converse with.

and. i. realize.

it’s late morning on a Tuesday, September 2013, and if my cup gets any more full of love and life and fresh air and human hearts and glow-in-the-dark paint, it will not runneth over, it will damn well collapse under the weight of all the things right in my world.

 

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2 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. DB Cox
    Sep 24, 2013 @ 12:28:25

    Amanda,

    You have put a little happiness into the heart of this dark, cynical old man.

    Thanks,
    DB

    Reply

  2. Mike Monson
    Sep 24, 2013 @ 21:21:43

    Chills. Very nice. Thanks for sharing your life and your spirit today. That is what I call singing.

    Reply

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