by Alison Paige

Created on: December 22, 2008

The ravages of my current lifestyle is taking a toll, if it hasn't already. While waiting for the right time to do the things that make life fun or interesting a boredom has set deep within my bones causing a weight that's becoming harder and harder to carry.

The lifestyle? Well, the Long Island wife and mother. The worker at the local nursery school. The life of a woman who's days consist of getting up in the morning to do the same thing she did the day before and the day before that. The days pass like generations, one overlapping the other where the resemblance is uncanny because the features never change.

The thought of changing things up is becoming an obsession. I'm becoming consumed by how sickeningly boring my life is!

Let me break it down.

I wake up to the sound of my husband trying his best to make my life easier, having no idea how little I appreciate his efforts because I am a lousy ungrateful brat that wants what she wants and dares not see the forest for the trees.
I pull the bed covers off exposing my warm body to the chill of the room. We have the largest bedroom in the house which coincidentally houses one of the smallest radiators. I wrap my robe around me and make my way to the bathroom. I wash up. Same thing I did the day before.
I walk downstairs into the dining room where my husband is sitting down with the New York Times opened in front of him next to his cup of coffee. Situated nearby is a cup for me. The cream and sugar have been added ready for my hot coffee to be poured. A small token on my husband's part to ease me into my day. With a smile on his face he extends his arm to welcome me and asks how I slept. Fine. I slept fine. I sit down.
Across from me I catch my reflection, and I think of something Yves Saint Laurent said about not being able to live in a room without mirrors because it makes the room look dead. Yet I can't help but think that what really looks dead is the image looking back at me. I look away quickly as my reflection is something I have always been ill at ease with.
I think back at the night before and how I cried as I washed my face and brushed my teeth because I can't shake the feeling that I don't have much time to do the things I want to do. I get angry at myself because I know how selfish I'm being; I have so many things in my life that I am deeply grateful for. So I cry more. I'm not a crier. I may get angry, but I never really cry.I dry my face and get into my bed and fall asleep. Come morning I can't remember my dreams.

I can't remember my dreams, those during my sleeping or waking hours. And I think I may not want to.

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