It's a challenge every day to slow it all down, tune it all out and just think.
Your dad doesn't have this problem; he can think about something for hours, days, weeks. He can easily compartmentalize. Granted, all the big things never get completely shut out of his mind either. They just simmer on the back burner.
He's also relatively impervious to all things pop culture. He chooses what he wants to know about, as if he has ear plugs permanently set in, blocking out all the nonesense that is the world.
Me, I'm not so fortunate. Why do I know lyrics to songs I don't even like? Why do I know what celebrities are together (and when they inevitable divorce, the supposed reasons why)? Why can't I remember important things like the time of an appointment, or the check for daycare, or when the last time I had my teeth cleaned was, or when I started this new set of contacts?
The built-in martyr complex that comes along with motherhood tells me that I'm always thinking of how other people need to be taken care of, which is why I can't seem to take care of myself. But that isn't true.
I could go to bed earlier, get up earlier, leave earlier, and then I wouldn't be habitually late for work. I could sleep more, eat a more balanced diet and work out regularly, and then I wouldn't be so ingratiatingly self-deprecating.
So why don't I do those things? I could be a better mom if I didn't neglect myself so much. And not in an "I deserve this shopping spree because I'm stressed" way of tending to myself. If I engaged in activities I like - writing, fashion, cooking, reading, travel - maybe I wouldn't be so bored with myself... and end up disliking myself so much.
We recently went to lunch for work to meet our new boss. I couldn't think of a single thing to say, to anyone. Now, I don't think I have much in common with them, but it used to be easier to manufacture conversation. The only time I perk up is when someone asks me about you. I love you to pieces, baby, but you can't be all I've got.
More to follow...