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Printed from https://shop.writing.com/main/books/entry_id/187865-shopping
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Rated: ASR · Book · Biographical · #147419
questions with no answers.
#187865 added August 22, 2002 at 11:08pm
Restrictions: None
shopping
8/22/02
9:37pm

So this morning I went shopping, and I don't ever shop. Just to try on some clothes. I wanted a dress for the wedding we're going to on Saturday. For some reason, Old Navy made decided that this was the week of jeans and sweaters, not cute wedding attire. Every other time I've been and had no money, I've seen the perfect dress just hanging there, screaming, "buy me!". But not today. Only casual shirts and skirts. For people who have real jobs. Career clothes. And as I looked at them I wanted a job more than anything. I actually wanted to get up every morning and put on black dress slacks and a matching blouse. What use have I for clothes like those? So I tried on some casual tank tops and I don't know why because I knew I'd go home depressed after that. Just clothes I might wear on one of those rare nights out. And everything nlI chose looked like s*** on me. I wanted to cry as I handed my seven articles of clothing back to the dressing room attendent. None of them looked decent on me. Not one. Even jeans, which I am normally pleased with. I left with an unused gift certificate and a very discouraged look on my face. It was one of those days when I just can't pull myself up from this deep hole of self pity I've dug. I hate that. I don't want to be this person I've become. I want to be better, stronger, and I the more I try, the more I fail. I keep telling myself that everything is okay, and I try so hard to make it seem that way but it's not. I cannot get myself out of this. So what do I do after I come home, disgusted with myself for appearing so horribly huge in the dressing room mirror? We make cookies, and I eat half the dough before I stick it in the even. I'm convinced that it will help my belly squeeze into the size eight low waist jeans when I go back next week. I did venture out to the gym, but only half heartedly. I don't really know where to start with myself. I don't know if the problem is my protruding belly or other issues that I don't want to deal with. It would be different if I was so busy that I didn't have the time to work on myself. But all this free time lately leaves me too much thinking space. I just want to deal with life as it comes and leave the analyzing to someone else. I don't want to know why I'm fatter this year than I was last year. Why I've lost the motivation to stick with a program that worked so well back then. Sometimes I just want to exist in this world and not wonder why everything is the way it is. I don't want to care that I haven't earned my degree even though it's been over five years since I graduated. I don't want to think about fixing what's wrong with me, changing my schedule so I actually get something done during the day. I don't want to wonder why my son has all of a sudden chosen the words "I hate you" to express his anger. Why when every time his dad instructs him to do something, he immediately responds, and then with me, it's just a constant battle for control. Tonight, I was a failure. I gave up half way through taking his clothes off for bath time, and just put him in bed and told him not to speak to me the rest of the night. I can't deal with this. He's decided that he is in charge of the world and I am simply someone to conquer. So I'm already feeling like a blimp after the old navy clothes episode and now he tells me that he is "ex-ing me out of this world". I don't know what to think. I don't know who to be. I don't know how to deal with him. And he's good. I am not ready for this. Sometimes I wish I could go back in time and keep him nine months old for the rest of his life. Two naps a day and in bed at seven. What now? I'm looking forward to a very busy season. Two trips out of town, one to Las Vegas, one to North Carolina. Football season. Autumn in the south where the leaves die and fall off the trees with no color. My son's last year of pre school before kindergarten. I think I'll make it. It can't get any worse.

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