A long time ago, an old friend loved to tell a little joke about how when you look at a cat, it could be thinking anything from, "Yessss, yessss, eat the poisoned potato chips," to "I think I just invented an air-powered car," to "Meow?" Yet when you look at a dog, with his happy, slavering, smiling face, it's pretty obvious that he's thinking, "Tomorrow, I get to poop again!!"
When I was younger, I wanted to be the cat, full of mystery. Now, i'm pretty happy to think like the dog.
Aside from my contentment, however, parts of me are still constantly searching. I have little niches that never seem filled, including:
- the perfect mug
- the perfect skin routine that will eliminate acne, halt aging, and provide world peace
- the perfect recipe for the most healthy and delicious snack ever, which seems to get less delicious the more healthy it gets, oddly
Some niches have been filled. I now have the perfect blanket, stolen from my child, who hates blankets. It's ugly and pink and seersucker (I know, totally gross!!), but sleeping under it is utter bliss. I've found the perfect art table, for $35 at Goodwill. I adore my perfect husband, car, sewing machine, and home. After buying and reselling for a year, I have my perfect stash of baby carriers for all occasions. I even found a yogurt I like, which is nothing short of a miracle, and I have the perfect mirror-covered llama sculpture, which was really hard to find.
But I am utterly haunted by not being able to find the right piece of artwork to go to the right of the sofa. It needs to have deep teal, light turquoise, gold, and tan, or just be made of wood. I'd like it to be about doors. It should be around 16x20, vertical, including framing. You'd think that would be easy to find, or that I would just do it myself, but I am obsessed with finding juuuuust the right piece. My friend Serena has a gorgeous Lamu door from Kenya, but hours of Googling, ebaying, and etsying have produced nothing similar.
I suppose veryone has that little thought that tickles them when they wake up at 3am. Regrets, hopes, dreams, fears, needs, worries. I keep dreaming that i've lost something (yes, often the baby), and have to go looking for it. But in everyday life, I have everything I need, and these little itches just serve to remind me of how little I actually want and don't have.
So, in conclusion, if I could take a time machine trip to visit myself in my maudlin high school days, I would make a funny space-suit, cover myself in fake boils made out of latex, and warn myself cryptically to hoard cans of ravioli and be ready for "the zombie apocalypse to come". Then i'd zap myself with silly string, laugh, and say, "don't worry-- it all turns out okay".