Cube with a blocked view.

Stifled.

Well, here goes. I seem to be slipping into mid-life crisis mode a few years early. Ok, a lot of years early. I'm not quite ready for the convertible, the young blonde trophy wife and... oh wait. Crap. I'm a girl. I don't get that.

The good news? I also didn't get the biological clock. No ticking going on here whatsoever. No matter how cranky work makes me, the worst weapon I've devised for that is a super soaker. C'mon, it's IT. A super soaker is quite devastating. Oh fine. I downgraded it to a tantrum at my desk and nerf guns. Let's test out the bus theory with a mental breakdown.

The reality is...I'm not happy in my life. Well, I am. I mean, really. I have things pretty damned good for a 31 year old divorced woman. This is where all of my decisions have brought me in the past. I just don't think I completely saw them for what they were or the affect they'd have on where I am today. For some reason, in the grand scheme of things, I thought the decisions I made for myself and where I ended up were mutually exclusive.

Turns out the only mutual exclusivity involved was that between where I WANTED to end up and where my decisions took me. Fine. I get that now. Sure, there are no do overs. I've done the husband, house and pets thing and it didn't work for me. Really didn't work for me. Yet, when that was over, I sought to replace that. Security? Fear? What drove me to try to replicate something that destroyed me?

I went down the path I was supposed to go down. I went to school. I worked. I started RRSPs and bought a house. The house is now a condo run by two cats, but still. It's the responsible thing to do. I'm being an adult. A contributing member of society. I even vote!

Somewhere along the way, my spontenaity was lost. My spirit. Luckily, my humour and giggle survived the trip, but for the most part, I became more stepford wife (ha ha, right) than...well... curling goddess. I don't take risks. I'm boring. Heck, even I find me boring. Predictable.

I'm not living MY life. I'm living some sham that is supposed to be the "adult" way to be. I'm trapped in a cube with a view. The riskiest thing I've done besides divorce is buying red furniture and painting the walls yellow. They'll write books detailing those feats, I'm sure.

Two years ago, I opened my life up to a universe of opportunity. With a little risk, I could take on anything. I shied away from that risk, aside from a brief search for a job out east. I quickly dropped that for all the wrong reasons. I cost myself an opportunity to be who I want to be, not who I'm supposed to be. And even in that, I was maintaining the corporate life. The cubicle, the computer, the bad eyesight and carpal tunnel.

And now I'm doing it again. Sort of. Hiding somewhere safe. Letting the world flow past me. Letting my dreams fade in the passage of time. Pretending they weren't important to me, that all along I understood my role in the grand scheme of things. That my sole purpose was to make sure I could retire comfortably, meanwhile maintaining an outer facade of happy middle-class single woman looking for Mr. Right.

Have I found him? God only knows. Have I found someone I can talk to? Yes. Someone who wants the best for me? You bet. Someone who wants me in his life? Uh huh. But how do we fit in each other's lives? What do I really want my life to be? Do I want him in it? Where does my family fit?

Where do I fit?

Sadly, I have more questions than answers.

posted by Erin @ 2:08 PM