The Proverbial It

Only dialogue 

“You don’t get it.”

“Get what?”

“Just the mere fact that you have to ask is proof that you don’t get it.” 

“Well if you tell me what it is that I need to air quote get, then I can try to understand it. I’m a pretty smart person. I get lots of things.”

“This isn’t something you can understand just by reading about it. It’s life. It’s thoughts. It’s emotions. It’s the darkness that seeps into the silence of every day as you’re just trying to be a good mom and wife.” 

“So you think dark thoughts during the day? Great. Like what? Why can’t you just be happy?There’s so much in our life to be happy about and you choose to think dark thoughts in the carpool?”

“Ohmygodthisiswhatimtalkingabout! I don’t choose to think dark thoughts. The thoughts. The dissatisfaction. The disillusionment. Are just there. Like all the time. In the background. And they seep into my consciousness sometimes. More often than not at this particular juncture in my life. But they can’t just be swept away and covered up by good vibes only.” 

“Think lovely thoughts. Isn’t that what Peter Pan always said?” 

“And he was forever a little boy with little boy thoughts and feelings. I’m a grown ass woman feeling real feelings about real things. And my real feelings are not always happy. Like why the fuck is my child calling my name for the thousandth time today when another perfectly capable adult, i.e. you, is sitting right fucking next to him?! How is my life filled with this much laundry? And dirty dishes. And crumbs. The amount of fucking crumbs on the floor that I can feel through my socks. And marriage. Why DO people get married? How can we really think that our 20 year old self will still love the same person when we’re 40? I can’t even go 6 months without changing the living room decor but I’m suppose to love the same person for like …ever? And not just love them but want to spend all my time with them. That’s crazy. Like really fucking crazy. Why don’t people tell us this shit? Like why don’t people tell you that child labor is ugly and emotional and that you might look at your baby and think who are you? How am I suppose to love a stranger that came out of my vagina and is now crying in my arms? While I’m also bleeding and unable to sit up comfortably for days due to said stranger. Why does no one warn you????”

“If you need help with sweeping the floor, you can just ask.” 

“Holy fucking shit.”

“What? I can help with the laundry, too. If you’d just ask. But you always tell me I do it wrong and not to touch it.”

“Did you not hear what I said about marriage? About having babies? About the fucking living room decor?” 

“Do you have your period or something?”

“And this is why we get called crazy. Because the shit I’m about to do right now will look crazy to someone who has no idea about the conversation that just transpired. It will even appear crazy to you who WAS a participant in the conversation. But really it’s fucking justice. What I’m about to do is justified. Because not only do YOU NOT GET IT, you just shit all over my truth. And you don’t even know how.” 

“Are you okay? Like really? Should I call someone?”

“It’s like this…. You dream and hope and pray, if you’re the praying type, for something. In my case it was a husband and two kids. A house. A social life. A job I love. And then you wake up one morning and realize. Poof. You have it. You literally have all the things. But somewhere along the way, you lost yourself. You lost sight of who you use to be. And you yearn for it. Not because you want to be 20 again. God, no. But how did you just grow to be a wife and a mom and a teacher? And why are all the things that you wanted so badly not enough to feel happy? Will you ever just be happy?…”

“This is what I’m saying? We have so much to be happy about in our life. Why are you content on being so negative?”

“It’s not about negativity. It’s about contemplation and truth and honesty. Sometimes the truth is ugly. Sometimes the truth doesn’t make logical sense. Sometimes the truth sets you free and sometimes it makes you feel like a prisoner.”

“You feel like a prisoner?”

“I feel trapped. Yes, in a way. I feel sad and lonely and misunderstood a lot of the time. I feel normal and crazy and full of love and full of red hot hatred at the same time. I feel grateful and regretful. But mostly I just feel a sense of longing. Like this can’t be it. This can’t be the it I’ve been waiting for. Can it? And if it is…. How do I reconcile that with the change in desire? The things I wanted at 20 are apparently, somehow, not the things I want now at 40…”

“So you’re saying you don’t want our life? You don’t want all of this? How can you even think that?” 

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m a monster for pouring my heart out to you. For trying to be understood. For thinking dark and ugly and mean things. You’re not better than me if you don’t think these things and you’re definitely not better than me if you do and just refuse to acknowledge it. It’s not that I don’t want this life. It’s that maybe after you get the things you so wanted, you realize they’re not all they’re cracked up to be. Like life is still life and life is hard. Even if you’re happily married with kids and a house and job you love. Maybe that sought after feeling of contentment never comes?” 

“I really don’t know how we got here. What is it that you’re looking for?” 

“I’m not even sure. Really. It’s not like I want to give up my house and kids and you and my job and my social life. I want to add to it somehow. Embellish it and make it better. Make it more real and less mundane. I want that feeling of contentment and ahhhh I made it. But I guess if I felt that at 40 what would be the purpose of the next 40 years? Oh my god. 40 more years? I have more than 40 more years of living like this.” 

“What’s wrong with this? What’s wrong with mundane, as you call it, when you’re surrounded by people you love and people who love you? When you get to watch your kids smile and laugh with their friends and have nights out with your friends and go to board meetings to better your community. What’s wrong with that?” 

“I guess I just want to be able to say all these things and have someone get it. Not necessarily think the same thoughts and have the same feelings but get it nonetheless. That’s what I want. I want that connection to someone. I want to be able to be discontent with a seemingly perfect situation and not be judged for it.”

“I’m not judging you.”

“Except you are.”

“I don’t mean to. But do you think your unhappiness is stemming from something else? Depression? Anxiety? Mid life crisis?”

“Who knows and does it it even matter? It’s real and it’s here and I’m in it and you’re not. I read about it in books. I listen about it on podcasts. I talk about it with friends. It’s not just me. It’s real.”

“Okay.”

“And knowing others write about it and talk about it helps me to realize that I’m not actually crazy. Reading and listening to others put into words what I seem to sometimes be unable to do is extremely validating. And yet. And yet it also makes me feel hopeless. Like it wouldn’t have mattered if I made different choices along the way. This was inevitable. And if that’s true… then why? It must mean there’s a reason and a purpose for this angst and discontent. Or do I have it all wrong?”

“Who am I to say?” 

“Yea, I’m not sure I’m to say either. I guess this is just what I have. What I am. In the here and the now. I accept it. I truly do. And. I wish I found myself in the kitchen talking with someone in a whisper scream who got it, too. That’s all. My new dream. My new hopes and happily ever after. I can’t expect that it would be you. You met my 20 year old needs. How could you also meet my 20 year later needs? That’s just too much to expect one person to be able to do.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“You’ve said enough. We’ve both said too much. What do you want for dinner?”