Here's how it goes: Tonight I deviate from normal routine, but only by leaving work early, leaving kid with Father, scrambling to do necessary work-related tasks first, choke down a dinner and get on a bus. At this deviation from normal routine - a volunteer event - I stare fixedly at my crossword and read my book and very much enjoy not speaking a single word. When other volunteers face my way or attempt contact, I smile politely but it is not my job to be polite at that moment as it is Monday through Friday so I give them nothing further. When a young man in skinny jeans hands out the assignments, he picks two plums and gives them to the young girls in floral rompers in front of me. Me, he gives the nothing assignment. The invisible lady. But that's okay. It's nice to be invisible sometimes. On the street afterwards there are restaurants and bars and people and life swirling and I could stop. But I don't. I could be part of this all anytime I want - take a bus, go out at night, get involved...but it strikes me for the first time that I may not be able to get involved any more. Is the being involved part of my life over? Even if I tried, would I be the invisible older lady no matter what? The bubble of the car commute, the work, the parenthood, the chores - nothing gets my hands dirty anymore, mixes me in there, makes things vital and squeezing and painful and joyful. Not truly. I love home and comfort and routine too. Still, I find myself yearning to be shaken, just a little, out of this groove. Not by car repair bills or escrow or a 5 day holiday and certainly not wishing for disaster. Wishing for external forces to be kind and interesting instead of devastating and expensive seems futile but I hadn't realized how pitted my stomach was, how painfully crossed my fingers and toes.
You know what I mean? Maybe?