Dissecting the Lynn

Why do I suck? I find myself asking this question often these days. So I think I am going to try and figure out exactly that. At present I am not sure how to do that. It seems I am stuck in this rut of continuing blah. So I am going to have to force myself to do something, anything. I guess my problem is that I never suffered from a lack of impetus. All of the sudden it hits like a ton of bricks that my kid is 4 years old, and he doesn't have a mother that he can be really proud of. What have I done with my life? Why did I end up here, with no motivation to do anything but take care of him and his dad. Am I some strange traditionalist content with having dinner ready at 5:00 and playing with Legos? It's looking like it today. But it didn't look like that ten years ago, or at least I didn't see it. I'm not sure that will be the case tomorrow, either. For now it suits me I guess. The thing that gets to me is the lack of motivation to do anything else. I don't paint, I don't play music, I don't even really write any more. These are things that I love, and yet I just can't get up the gumption to get up and do them. Who on this planet doesn't want to do things that they enjoy? Apparently this girl. Even sitting down tonight to write about how I don't get why I don't want to write, felt almost chore-like. So I guess the only thing to do is to hop around the old memory banks and try to figure out what and who molded me into the neurotic mess you see here before you. The next goal is to write something tomorrow night at 9:00. So whatever I am thinking about at that time is probably what I am going to write about. I hope it isn't toast, because right now I'm thinking about toast.

Dorkus

Here's the deal, dude. I am not one of the cool kids. I am never going to be one of the cool kids. For the last couple of years I've fallen into this pattern of caring what the world at large thinks of me and the choices I make for myself. I was walking up to my son's preschool today when I found myself frantically pawing at the barbell in my lip. I had to get it out before any of the other mothers saw it...or what would the kids think? But then, where am I teaching them any tolerance or acceptance? Do I not want them to grow up confident in who they are, regardless of who that may be? Leading by example is not going to be a good thing if Phoenix sees me hiding even something as stupid as a lip ring, and it really is stupid if they give a shit. So here is my little blog about how I felt walking home from preschool today. Thanks to a dancing Snoopy card, I found the inspiration to try and write it.
The truth of the matter is this. I wear adidas because they're dope, not because I am a crazy workout freak. I have tattoos instead of tea parties. There are some holes in my face, and I have no idea what the fuck PX90 is. I only try to get my son to take naps on the days when we are going to go out at midnight for some planetary viewing, and I think it's important that he know how a compost bin works. I am a band geek, and the poorest philanthropist you'll ever meet. I eat bullshit like qinoa and spelt because I like them and they are good for me, not because it is the latest trend in orange county housewivery. I believe in organic because how can chemicals or genetic modifications be any kind of good for digestion. My friends who are native to this land, are just that, Native Americans, and my friends from India are from a land called Asia. I believe all our presidents have been the same guy with a different signature, and McDonald's will kill you if you let it.
In the end, I'm probably not as cool as you are, but I guarantee you, your kid thinks I'm awesome, and so does mine. So fuck you cool kid.