LIM: SOC for The Rest of Us

photo credit: Steve took it via photopin cc

Friday night, and just like I'm having to declutter and make way for the new Christmas presents coming our way, it's the same doing with a weekly brain cleanse.

The LIM, Loose Inner Monologue brain dump--since I'm too chicken for a brain drill. I've set aside Friday night as the night I just let it all out and make room for the new crazy. My thoughts aren't sophisticated or linear enough for a civil Stream of Consciousness, so I've got my own blog space here to hang it up to dry.

The role of blogging as a mental health tool is seriously overlooked.

My third LIM, loose inner monologue, right here, where it belongs--out into the universe and out of my packed head.

This Week's LIM, Loose Inner Monologue: because streaming thoughts? Not so much. More like a karate chop response to my immediate environment.

Is it menopause? Is it perimenopause? Is it tomandjerrykatyperrypause? I don't know, but all I can do lately is wish for the days I once had and wonder where the heck time goes and look at my kids whose faces still look like this to me ...

... and try and figure out why I have to look up when I talk to them. My God but they were beautiful.

And oh oh oh but everything is a trigger lately. Seriously. I had to hold it together at the supermarket this morning when Daddy Don't You Walk So Fast came on. You know how hard it is to shop for kids with food allergies because you have to read labels and you can't even read the ingredients because your eyes are blurry with katyperrymenopausal tears because "Daddy? Don't you walk so fast!" came on?

Triggers everywhere. I can't even go grocery shopping now? What the? I can't see a Froot Loops, or an Apple Jacks, or their once favorite: Cheerios.

Grocery store music kills me. Daddy Don't You Walk So Fast kills me. I remember when they were so little and now they're teenagers. Late teenagers. How could they be teenagers already?

I can't believe I'm not the mother of little kids anymore. We used to go through Costco loads of Cheerios. We'd make Cheerios necklaces with red licorice shoestrings. Now there's a fun way to live, with a snack around your neck 24/7.

I can't believe what a caricature of a weepy-eyed mother I've become. Barely holding it together while I make it through the cereal aisle. Sheesh. just make it out of the store in one piece, woman, and pray no one you know sees you huddled on the floor wailing "Why? Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy??" while clutching a box of Cheerios to your chest. 

And just when I put the Cheerios back and think I'll make it out of Aisle 5 safely, I spy ohmygod THE FROOT LOOPS. They used to LOVE Froot Loops. We learned how to sort according to color with Froot Loops.

Why, why, why you got to be like that, Father Time?

You know, if this supermarket was smart, they'd wanna keep me in here longer because I am a shopping kind of gal. If they put on some naughty Justin Bieber singing to this middle aged mama all about "If I Was Your Boyfriend," they'd be getting a lot bigger chunk of my husband's change. All spent in Aisle 7, Health and Beauty. New hair dye? Justin's makin' me feel it. In the cart. Is this red lipstick too dark for a woman of certain years? Mama don't think so. Toss it in. Ooooh, extra lengthening fibers mascara Super Lash in blackest black? I think two will do. One for my place, one for Justin's.

Who pays these store music people? Because this place is getting ripped off. I'd show them how to get someone to open their purse like a parting of the red sea.

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Have a mind that's more choppy than streamy? I invite you to write up your own Loose Inner Monologue post. Leave your link here. Admit it--just the mention of a brain dump and your thoughts are all jamming the aisle, like the last chopper out of Vietnam.

"One at a time, thoughts, one at a time ..."