So much going on – not sure where to start.

Watched my amazing daughter finally overcome her fear of riding a bike (after nearly 6 years) and pedal unassisted around our nearby park.

Made the tiniest bit of headway in repairing our house not only so it is more livable for us but also so that it might be livable for someone (anyone) else to want to buy it.

Searching for a new home while searching for a way to afford it and sell the current one.

Fighting back and forth with my hormones that don’t want to stay settled in any kind of normal way.

Trying to build a career out of what I supposed was nothing more than a day job, lose 20 pounds gained over the last year, and reintroduce my body back to regular exercise.

Maintain, strengthen and enhance my marriage and relationship with my best friend of over 20 years.

Be present and engaged in the lives of the two most wonderfully magnificent creations this universe has ever seen – our kids.

Transform all of my experience into Pulitzer Prize/Nobel Laurette material to share with all the world in love and peace.

🙂

Think Black Eyed Peas –

“And the base keep runnin’ runnin’, and runnin’ runnin’, and runnin’ runnin’, and runnin’ runnin’, and runnin’ runnin’, and runnin’ runnin’, and runnin’ runnin’, and runnin’ runnin’, and…”

Not that I’m a huge fan of theirs, just that song is running in my head today.

I was doing that – runnin’ runnin’ and runnin’ runnin’ – in the absolute non-literal sense of I was going about my perfectly fine day when suddenly —

Faster than a babbling bitch brandishing a bad attitude! More powerful than a lopsided lacerating limbo! Able to heap massive doom in a single binding butt-clinch!

“Look!”

“It’s a bird!”

“It’s a plane!”

“It’s SuperHormone!!”

Yes, it’s SuperHormone … A strange yet regular visitor with powers and abilities far beyond those of ordinary hormones! SuperHormone … who can swing the course of mighty moods, bend happiness in her bare hands, and who, disguised as a mild-mannered 40-something working Mom and Wife of a great and wonderful family, fights a never-ending battle for sloth, depression, and gluttony in a weepy-vengeful raging-way!

It comes without warning and stays beyond its welcome every single time. It can turn the world off with its frown and take a beautiful sunny day and make it all seem hopeless. It can melt the ice caps with its hot flashes, add five pounds in a day from its food cravings and flood the banks of the Amazon with its tears.

And that has been my day.

Clearly defining who I “am” (yes, imagine me make air-quotes for emphasis) may be what my ego pretends to be doing in this race around the universe inside my head, but it consistently tosses Molotov bottle-rockets disguised as things I “am not” (more air-quotes) into my survivor’s back-pack.

Such as:

I am not currently capable of sustained attention spans of longer than a few minutes.

I am not looking forward to the Arthur remake. (Sorry – just saw the commercial. See? Already proving first point.)

I am not to be trusted to not tell you the right way to do something.

I am not worry-free. Not. Ever.

I am not able to answer “yes” or “no” questions with a single word.

I am not a good listener. My ears are not ever free of a high frequency sound wave apocalypse and my mind does not like to sit around its own or anyone else’s neighborhood too long.

I am not able to get where I am going without having a mad, hurried dash at the end.

I am not nearly as trusting and forthright as I would have you think I am. But I am not going to tell you that.

I am not someone who gives up easily unless faced with certain, disruptive conflict creating what is not comfortable for me. Or a hang-nail – whichever comes first.

I am not a fan of the back-stab, overly-arrogant-superior-attitude-poorly-faked-to-hide-a-crumbling-attempt-at-knowing-what-the-hell-is-going-on persona, or the comb-over.

I am not patient when it comes to driving, grocery shopping or anything that has to do with the betterment of my body, mind or soul.

I am not able to eat just one Lays potato chip.

I am not finished grieving the loss of anyone I have loved. Any. One.

I am not a fashionista.

I am not watching, now or ever, American Idol, The Bachelor or The Bachelorette. There. I’ve said it.

I am not book-smart nor am I able to learn how to do anything by only reading about it.

I am not enjoying the transition from reproductive vessel to wise crone.

I am not letting go of much of anything without leaving a mark that may or may not sting upon contact with saltwater.

I am not afraid of God. Yours or Mine. Anymore.

I am not so many more innumerable things stuffed into the hidden pockets of ego-maniacal gray matter.

I am also not going to allow what my ego thinks I should not be complete my definition of me.

I am, after all, me.

Peace.