Ten Days to a Better You

H.Rethmann                                                                                                 heliasmone@bellsouth.net

1870 words

Ten Days to a Better You

Day 1

Let me start by saying I’m grateful I’m not you. Not that I don’t covet your pretty office with its big windows, the way the room always smells of… vanilla? I would very much like to live in a posh place, park my butt on a couch not covered in dog hair, inhale a scent that’s not toddler through up, and enjoy a view not smudged by greasy paws. Making tons of money for sitting in a comfortable chair all day sounds good too. But listening to people as they describe their depressing lives and not offering them anything in return except platitudes and the suggestion to be more positive? Hell no. I’d rather eat nails. I’d rather gnaw the coating off your expensively lacquered fingertips. I’d pity you for the fakery of your existence, but as I see it, you chose that life. Comfort over authenticity and truth. So, no. I would never want to be you, not even for $250 an hour. I’m thankful I’m not a sell-out. How’s that for gratitude?

Day 2

I’m only doing this stupid journaling thing because I have nothing else to do, now I no longer get assignments from the paper. Well, technically I could throw in another load of laundry or scrape the dried cat shit off our warping wood floors. I could do the dishes, change the sheets, or research kid-friendly, wholesome dinner recipes online. I could take the dog for a walk. But what would be the point? As soon as you finish one chore, another one emerges. There will never not be dirty laundry. The dog will forever yelp to go out again. The kid will forever not like her food (unless it’s ice cream) and throw up the broccoli. Maybe the goal of this exercise is to offer me procrastination from endless chores? If so, I’m grateful for Procrastination. When Mark gets home and complains about the mess, I will tell him it’s your fault. You asked me to start this journal for the sake of my mental health. Doctor’s orders.

Day 3

Phew. It’s so hard to think of things I’m grateful for. Should I be grateful that the Weekly I used to write for laid me off for ‘emotional imbalance’ and ‘extreme viewpoints’? Extreme viewpoints! I was only telling it as it is. It’s miserable to live in the patriarchy. It’s agony trying to balance outdated notions of desirability and newfound worth. Death lurks in the spaces of ‘has been’ and ‘will never be again’. Am I wrong to fear menopause? Am I wrong to resent Mark for effortlessly aging and looking sexy in the process? Should I be happy about my therapist asking me to find joy in mind-numbing routines, physical decline, and the unfairness of it all? Okay, then: I’m glad I no longer waste my time churning out heartfelt opinion pieces for that cowardly rag. They don’t deserve my honesty. I am grateful I can see through the relentless POSITIVITY crap.

Day 4

Mark thinks the journaling is working and actively encourages it. Says the lines around my mouth have started to relax and I don’t seem quite as bitter. He wants us to go back to feeling the way we used to, before the mortgage, the kid, the cat and the dog, and my writing assignments. Poor sob! If the lines around my mouth are relaxing, it’s because he has finally learned how to load the dishwasher. To his credit, he helps in other ways, too. He picks up Sophie from daycare, pays the bills, orders take-out and puts the empty containers into the recycling bin. He tells me not to worry about our reduced income and your bills, which is a relief. He never liked me writing for the Weekly; he thinks it is too emotionally taxing and fueling my rage. He likes the idea of gratitude. If he focused on everything that was wrong with the world, Mark said, he would die screaming. Instead, he chooses to focus on the POSITIVE: my lasagna, Sophie’s delight in the natural world, his beer after dinner. LORDS and LADIES, I thought – here is a man who’s been thoroughly conditioned by neo-capitalism. Did my therapist encourage him to say these things? But it was also sweet. I am grateful I married a supportive fool who is also, let’s face it, very good-looking.

Day 5

It’s occurred to me that I’ve been taken my husband for granted for too long. The same is true for him when it comes to me, Mark says. He’s been too focused on making partner and advancing at the firm to think much about my home life. In turn, I have never once thought about his days at the office which sound incredibly boring, with the same type of cases piling up on his desk day after day. His boss is a narcissist who takes credit for the labor of the associates while pitting them against each other, poisoning the atmosphere. Ugh. What Mark hates most is leaving in the dark to return only after the sun has set, missing all of Sophie’s and my day, because we – Sophie and I – are his bright spots and keep him going. Poor Mark! Can you imagine a resentful wife and a fussy toddler being your ’bright spot’ in life? I’m grateful I don’t have an egotistical boss and am in charge of my own schedule. I’m free to walk the dog whenever I feel like it. The laundry can always wait another day if I decide so. I’m NOT grateful that the cat pooped on the floor again. What’s wrong with her? I clean her litter box twice a day and still she insists on defecating on wood. Ungrateful beast.

Day 6

I see what you’re doing here. If we stop the navel-gazing to consider the lives of others, we will find things to be grateful for. I’m not them – hallelujah. I don’t have to pluck chicken feathers at the Tyson plant for fourteen hours a day. I don’t have to clean public restrooms in the tourist part of town. I am not a lowly associate at a prestigious law firm, subject to the whims of a selfish boss. I make my own decisions. Should I scrub the toilet or leave the orange-stained gunk for another day? Chicken or pasta for dinner? Make-up and real pants or my usual ‘yoga’ getup? Tonight, I made an effort, and Mark noticed. He not only complimented the lasagna but also my outfit and called me ravishing. He’s clearly losing his eyesight. Sophie only picked the cheese off the noodles, but there’s calcium in cheese. Her pediatrician said she’s developing at a fine pace. Here it goes: I’m grateful for small comforts and reassurances.

Day 7

Ah, what the hell. The last thing I want to do when we meet next week is to admit the gratitude stuff is working. It’s not. I’m out of my journalism job and have no new creative outlet to define me. Mark says I’ll find something else, give it time. Blah-blah-blah. Meanwhile my daughter still prefers Mark over me. He raises her up and she’s cackling. I bounce her on my knees, and she cries. The cat and dog like him better, too. He says it’s because he’s focused when he plays with them while I’m often distracted. They can tell my attention is elsewhere and it hurts their feelings. I need to be more ‘in the moment’. Please. Another one of these new-fangled phrases I hate. I tried to be ‘in the moment’ as I picked soggy cheerios off the kitchen rug and soaked the milk-soaked mat in the bathtub while Sophie used the unsupervised time to draw crayon squiggles on the walls, and guess what? It didn’t make the moment any better. So now I’m having a big old glass of wine while I recall all the things I’m still not grateful for: War. Starving children. Climate change. Racism and sexism and homophobia and transphobia and xenophobia and internalized misogyny. The cable company. The neighbor who lets his dog shit in our yard while I always carry baggies to pick up after mine. The insane invoice for ‘services rendered’ you sent today.

I’m grateful for the soothing powers of alcohol.

Day 9

Took a day off from journaling to revel in misery. It’s not much fun if I don’t get to write about it. We all need to be heard. I guess you’re my audience now? But you only want me to list the things I’m grateful for which seriously limits my freedom of expression. Let’s see… I’m grateful Mark called you to negotiate a payment plan. I’m grateful you not only agreed to it but also offered a reduced rate. That was big of you, seeing how much you are struggling as a childless professional woman with a hefty divorce settlement, judging by your expensive taste in furniture and office art (it can’t have all been paid for by clients?). I’m making assumptions, of course (no ring, no pictures of spouses or spawn, no dark circles under your eyes, an eternally benign expression, those impractical fingernails). In truth, I know nothing about you, because we only ever talk about me. Do you eat microwaved dinners in solitude or meet friends at classy restaurants and vent about your workday? Do you second-guess yourself? Feel insecure about your appearance? Agonize over your thinning hair or sagging boobs and then double-agonize because you’re worried about the wrong things? Maybe you have credit card debt. Maybe you would have liked a spouse and/or a child, but things didn’t work out that way. Maybe you genuinely believe in ‘no regrets’ and the powers of positivity? If so, I salute you. You’ve got a better handle on existence then I do. Which you should have, given that you charge money for helping people negotiate life. But seriously: Thank you for offering your services at a reduced rate. I’m seriously grateful for that.

Day 10

Wow. Reading back over my journal which I will have to submit to you tomorrow like a schoolchild, I realized I bolded three instances of feeling grateful last night. Three! If nothing else, you’ve brainwashed me into bolding fleeting emotions. Nice work, doctor! I’m mainly joking. I do appreciate the focus on gratitude. Today I feel grateful that Sophie ate most of a ripe avocado and thanked me for ‘cooking’ it. And yes, she dropped some of the avocado’s green flesh on the newly cleaned rug where the dog inhaled and expelled it soon after and I had to soak the rug again, but the point is that Sophie ate a nutritious food without putting up a fight. Maybe she’s finally getting over her ‘ice-cream only’ phase. I’m delirious with hope. Another good thing happened: I have an idea for an essay. It’s about a woman who is turning her life of drudgery around by focusing on positive thinking. Editors love hopeful stories, however bogus, because readers crave them too. I’m calling my essay “Ten Days to a Better You” and have no doubt it will sell. Here’s to positivity, baby!