A Certain Point of View

When I was growing up, the one cartoon I was never fond of was the Road Runner and Wile E. Coyote. I could admire Coyote's neverending determination, but it was just a little too surreal for me. I always had unanswered questions about the show: Where was the Road Runner going in such a hurry? I always assumed Wile E. Coyote was hunting the bird for food, but couldn't he just order some food from Acme? Where was he getting the money to pay for his mail order stuff? But I did like the anvils, the giant magnets, the catapults, the bombs and the explosions because the blackened Coyote never died. Anvils, giant magnets, catapults, bombs, and explosions were funny. Giant sticks of dynamite were hysterical.

Everybody knew that anvils, giant magnets, catapults, bombs and explosions were abstract. Giant sticks of dynamite don't exist.

Some things are supposed to stay abstract. The second word in "Star Wars," for example. Bombs are another good example. It's a terrible day when bombs and explosions aren't funny any more.

So now I'm working as a conservator, something I've always wanted to do. My job can be frustrating, exhilarating, hilarious, maddening. I haven't been there long enough to feel like part of the company, although my colleagues are welcoming and kind. My input and skills are valued. Every morning, I jump up and race to work, amazed that I do what I do, and feel lucky that I do it. I was working at Kinko's, remember?

I have become what I have always wanted to be! I am doing what I have always wanted to do!
People introduce me as the Objects Conservator!

So why don't I feel arrived? I am married and he loves me and I love him. We own a lively (no, not lovely, it's not lovely, it's lively) house full of cats and birds' nests and we just discovered a hornet's nest. The cars aren't fancy but they're in good shape.

I've made progress, of course. I was looking back on some older posts, how sad I sound. I was using any excuse to keep on living, and those included friends' weddings and Revenge of the Sith and Harry Potter and The Half Blood Prince. Episode 3 has come and gone, and I'm not suicidal. Harry Potter 6 is coming up, and I'm not worrying about how I'll feel after #7, at the moment. I've got another wedding to look forward to, yes, but I'm not depending on that to keep me alive. I'm ok.

But why don't I feel arrived? It's not material things, it's not because we don't have HBO, or something like that.

Is it the undone housework? (The house really is a wreck.) Is it the uncertainty of children? (My best friend is pregnant and I always wanted us to have children close in age so they could be friends, but maybe that's not fair to them, huh?) Is it the clients I haven't delivered their artwork to? (Oh, I got to, got to, got to finish that!) Is it the weight I've gained back in grad school? (I was so cute once. Do I try to lose it again, or do I clean out my closet?) Is it just the guilt I haven't taken the kittens to get neutered? (They're fast, those little buggers) Is it the medication? (Tom Cruise can bite my ass.)

When does the anxious feeling stop?