I won’t grow up, I won’t grow up…

It is shocking that, after so many years as an (alleged) adult, I still have no idea what I really want to be when I grow up.

Seriously.

I know that other people aren’t like this, because I actually know, in person, people who aren’t. My brother, for example. Mr. “Went To College, Straight THROUGH College, Got Degree, Got Job, Buckled Down, And There I Am, No Worries, No Regrets.”

So I can’t even blame genetics, right? I’d really like to, because then it wouldn’t be my fault that I’m a scatterbrained twit who can’t seem to stick to one thing longer than eighteen seconds. It is a miracle that I ever got through college. The only thing that got me actually through college and to a degree was that the university I finally attended was so stinkin’ expensive that I didn’t dare take even one (1) class I didn’t have to take.

My earlier college career at CSU Hayward went like this: “This quarter, I’m an Engli- no, hang on, Mass Communications major! Oooh! Animals! I’m definitely a BioSci major! Wait! Math! No, hang on, let’s do a BioSci Major with a Math min- hey, you know what’s cool? Archeology! And also Music! BioSci, and Music, with a little extra math. And also Italian.”

I’m like…an academic crow. I hop from bright shiny pebble to bottle cap to funky piece of string.

It’s probably one of the most serious cases of ADD on record, but I prefer to call it ‘having a highly evolved sense of curiosity’.

I’m having a day where I’m wondering if I need medication. You know. Focusallotta or Quitcherwafflus or Whasamattayoustupidagra.

Actually, I’m having a year of it.

Between January and April, I quit my job in my head at least four dozen times, then changed my mind and said, “No! I’m going to FIX this, and someday they shall place the Crown of Supremeness upon my noble brow around this place!” And about five minutes later I’d hang up the phone and say, “Quitting. So totally quitting. This sucks, and I’m out of here…”

We want to move. But I fear the cost of the new house – fear it in a way that some people fear zombies or heights or sitting next to that lady who wears too much perfume on the bus. I’m not sure that I’m being entirely rational, really. Somehow, thousands and thousands of other people manage to hold down even larger mortgage payments with even less income than we have; but then I think how tight our margins are As Things Stand, and then I say, “OK, so now double the property taxes and add about $500-1,000 to the mortgage payment itself plus also of course the homeowners insurance will also go up…

And then I go off and breathe into a paper bag for a while until I become distracted, get crayons, and make a puppet out of the paper bag. “Mr. Breathy says, ‘Eh-oh! Eh-oh!’”

HA! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! {snort!}

Wait. Where was I…oh yeah.

I’d like to go back to work. Not really. But I would. Or not. What time is it? Oh. Time to change my mind again, gotcha.

**sigh**

It doesn’t help that other people want to throw gasoline on my fires. Just as I’m settling back into the domestic diva routine and have got my zen together about work-from-home opportunities I might be brave and/or energetic enough to take on, I get a phone call from a recruiter saying, “So hey. Haven’t talked to ya in a while! How are you? How’re the kids? Greeeeeeeeat…so! I have a client, well, actually, I have three clients, and we were wondering…”

GET BEHIND ME, SATAN!!!

Honestly. Like I don’t change my mind enough, like I don’t doubt my choices and worry about home / family / income / blah blah blah enough all by myself. My brain is too schizophrenic to handle the constant barrage of oh-so-appealing things I said I didn’t want to do anymore.

Of course, anything which involves running away from home, possibly to Spain where I will assume a new identity and pretend I speak neither Spanish nor English but rather some other language like Russian, which I do not actually speak but I’m pretty sure-ski I could fake-ski getting out a bit sounds really appealing right now because! YES! I have reached the point at which I stop being relieved and delighted that it is summer break and am now anxiously counting the days until school @*^&@ing starts again, so that I can ditch these horrible monsters for six glorious hours each day nobly deposit my offspring in the Hallowed Halls of Learning, so that they may grow up to be Good Citizens of this great country of ours.

See! Here we go again! I mean, I knew I would, but still! A few weeks ago, I’m jumping around all excited and happy because YAY! Finally! No more school! No more pickups and drop offs and minimum-half-Patriot days!

And now? I’m so ready to take them back to school. SO ready. I’m so tired of breaking up fights, and refereeing their games, and finding Things For The Poor Deprived Bored Children To Do.

They are intelligent, creative children. Why they can’t seem to entertain themselves for any length of time is beyond me.

Unless, of course, they have some kind of genetic inability to stay focused on anything for more than eighteen seconds at a stretch…