I Just Want To Be ALONE.

February 24, 2014

Let’s get down and dirty honest here, shall we?

In the day in day out chaos of raising fruit loops, answering texts, doing laundry, emptying dishwashers, driving fruit loops all over creation, reading emails, attending birthday parties at germ infested microcosms of hell, answering more texts, sitting in smelly gyms watching yet another sports practice, attending PTA meetings with people who don’t agree with your opinions, texting, texting, always with the texting, making organic, GMO free, gluten free, sugar free, high protein food, and attending to your spouse’s needs, sometimes, it all gets to be too much.

Sometimes, in the middle of a jam packed grocery store on a Sunday afternoon, a mall overflowing with Christmas shoppers, or the parking lot of Kohl’s, you just want a minute of quiet to have a thought in consecutive order. You just want a tiny piece of the universe where you can hear yourself think about the eighty six cupcakes you have to make, the twenty six miles you want to run or why the hell they killed Matthew Crawley off of Downton Abbey. You just want your husband to not ask where his dry cleaning is, whether or not you’ve secured a babysitter for Saturday night or if you want to make the sexy. Again.

Sometimes, YOU JUST WANT TO BE ALONE.

ALONE. In sweet silence.

ALONE. By yourself.

ALONE. ALOOOONNNNAAAH.

For me, there are times where I want to be alone so badly I stomp around here like a very crabby amalgamation of Tony Montana and Archie Bunker (“Edith, say hello to my little friend!!!”). There are days where I will literally sit in my closet for five minutes just to commune with the silence of my shoes. Shoes don’t talk. They understand. They know they will get thrown out the window if they open one of their peep toe mouths. They know that I. JUST. NEED. A. MINUTE. OF. QUIET.

A few years ago, I went on a trail run with a good friend in the Flatirons of Boulder, CO. About halfway through the run, she stopped me and said, “Listen”. The silence where we stood was deafening. As in, so quiet my ears throbbed as they searched vainly for the tiniest sound or vibration. As in, my brain could not register such a level of quiet. It was like my brain was saying “Does not compute! Does not compute! System is down! Switching to generator power!”. It was so quiet, in fact, that when she spoke again, I actually jumped. I want more of that quiet in my world. No. I NEED more quiet like that in my world.

Alas, my proximity to the Flatirons is not conducive to frequent deafeningly silent trail runs so I have to make do with hiding in closets or my car in the garage after the fruit loops have barreled inside. I have come to accept that the word ALONE is just not a part of my daily vernacular. I have found, though, that by starting a blog, it’s somewhat acceptable to say, “Quiet! Mommy is writing!”. And, by “writing” that sometimes *might* mean screwing around on Facebook and Pinterest. I said I wanted quiet. I didn’t say I was honest about it, people.

So, when, back in January, Jen of People I Want To Punch In The Throat emailed me and asked if I’d be interested in submitting for a book entitled “I Just Want To Be Alone”, I jumped at the chance. I say jumped. SHE might say “reached into the computer and rubbed my face in her chest while screaming Yes! Yes! I’d love to!! Yes, please!! OMG, yes!! A thousand times, yes!”. Potato, potahto, no? I couldn’t believe I had an opportunity to tell the world to leave me the hell alone for a few minutes. I mean, how awesome is THAT?

I Just Want To Be Alone is an anthology of blogger essays about the men in our lives who won’t leave us the hell alone. There are thirty seven women in this book who JUST. WANT. TO. BE. ALONE. Thirty seven women who have hilarious stories about loving their husbands fiercely while simultaneously wanting them to just go away for a little while. Not long. Just for a day. Or an afternoon. Okay, maybe an hour. Fine, just give us five freaking minutes, for the love of Coconut Mocha K Cups. Sheesh.

Why not buy the book and join us in the closet? Your shoes won’t tell. They know better.