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Don’t Confuse Me

First post, and what I have to tell you isn’t pretty. For one thing, I’ve been watching a Tori and Dean: Inn Love marathon, and I actually enjoyed it. I got home from work, completely fried from busting my tookus all day long, including our second marriage counseling session at the ungodly hour of 9 am, and I swear I was so intellectually exhausted that I sat in front of the television for fully half an hour before I even knew what I was watching. And it turned out to be – gasp – a reality show. But as the marathon went on, and the clenched fist of my brain began to uncurl, I found myself getting into the wacky narrative of this famous-for-being-famous celebrity couple’s lives — the bed and breakfast they run, the multiple business ideas they are continually trying to launch, and the shockingly normal relationship tensions that come up and are resolved. But what I found myself enjoying the most was the surprisingly genuine nature of their marriage. There was something endearing about seeing a husband and wife, however unusual their lives, understanding each other, helping each other, annoying each other, and then apologising and recognising each other’s limits.

Clearly their lives are not normal — they have a housekeeper for crying out loud. When I look around our apartment I see dirt on the floor (I’m not even kidding — our vacuum broke two weeks ago and we’ve been too flat out to fix it) and wedding invitation detritus all over the dining room table, and I don’t even waste any energy wishing it were cleaner. This is what happens when you are two months away from getting married and watching trash TV on the sofa in your pajamas. And this is one of those moments that I suddenly realise how different I’ve become over the last few years. My life is patently normal — every day I curse the need to get out of bed and go to work, I more or less enjoy what I do, I am overcommitted and under-slept, I’m getting married and I’m getting older. And I can sit down with some warmed up leftover quesadillas, watch a television show about celebrities who have more money and more clothes and more creative opportunities than I’ll ever have and my only reaction is to respond to the normal parts of their life, to warm to their human emotions and snappy one-liners.

I’m not saying I don’t want to be successful and creative and pulled together, and throw fabulous parties and learn to knit a sweater and remember to send birthday cards on time, but I’ve learned to be a lot more gentle with myself.

And THAT, Martha, is a good thing.

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