Any morning that starts with an 8-foot pee trail across my living room from a 16-pound schnauzer puppy (whose only talent is to pee undetected while walking across an entire room) is bound to lead to a day that is more than slightly off.
Today is that day.
After scrubbing up the puppy wee (and tearfully begging him to please, please stop weeing in the house, for the love of all things holy), I was five minutes late for work. I scuttled in with wet hair and I may have forgotten deodorant.
Now, I’m in my office listening to Sinead O’Connor and wishing I was 20 again, still in college, full of hope and promise, and truly convinced my life would be incredible. I was certain then that time and age would make me beautiful, successful, finally thin, and incredibly, disgustingly happy. But, as Don Henley and The Eagles said in “Lyin’ Eyes,” “Ain’t it funny how your new life didn’t change things/She’s still the same old girl she used to be.” Amen, brothers.
Do we ever really change? I mean, I’m certainly crabbier than I was at 20. I worry more. I feel less sure of myself, but more willing to speak. But, am I fundamentally a different person? If I met 20-year-old me today, would I recognize her? Would I like her?
Sometimes, I feel exactly the same and I get sad when I realize how much is different and how much of my life is already gone. I miss hope and my younger willingness to imagine and have faith in better tomorrows and years down the road. Is it possible I am still those things underneath so much acquired crabbiness? Do I have to cheat on my rich, elderly husband, as in The Eagles song, to get the original me back? (Note: I don’t have a husband, rich, elderly or otherwise…that was a joke.)
I’m afraid these are too many questions for a Thursday afternoon. I have miles to go and promises to keep, and bean salad to eat. Sing it, Sinead. Sigh.