Groundhog Day

I started watching “The King of Queens” reruns because it made me laugh.  And, falling back to my self-esteem issues, I continued watching because I had become enamored with the character “Carrey”. 

You see, Carrey has perfect skin and great hair, whereas, I do not.  Carrey has great clothes and the most perfect figure, whereas, I do not.  Carrey has a job a legal secretary, which may not seem glamorous, but compared to schlepping around poopie pants all day…  Well, let’s just say Carrey works somewhere that smells nice all day, whereas, I do not.  Carrey has a beautiful home, has a best girl friend, gets to go to the gym, eat out, etc, and so on….

This is where I become jealous of complete and utter fiction.  How low can you go?  Carrey’s hair is perfect because a team of hair people are fixing it every twenty minuets.  Her home is beautiful because it was designed by a team of set designers.  The designers forgot the clutter, the dust bunnies, the dog pee stain on the rug.  Yeah, definitely fiction.

I just get so caught up in it.  I always feel as though things will never change, that I will never change.  Part of my daydreaming strategy at work is to amp myself up for something.  Nearly every day I tell myself, “I’m gonna do some sit-ups this evening!  It won’t be so bad.  I’ll pop in a movie and just do a few, wait a bit, do a few more.”

The problem is, I never do.  I’ll be twenty-nine in less than two months.  I’m nearly out of my prime and this is probably the best my body will ever be and it depresses me. 

I have not owned a bathing suit since I was ten years old and at this rate, I’ll probably never own another.  “You got a cute little body,” one of my female coworkers had once told me.  Ha!  If only she could see the volleyball I carry around in the front. Hiding bulges and squishable deposits has become an art.

Yes, I lost a considerable amount of weight some years ago and the rest, well…  It just never went.  And my butt has disappeared and formed a plateau otherwise known as White Girl Butt. 

At this point, a cubicle sounds nice to me.  I’d decorate it like a second home.  I’d hit the gym after work, and I’d go out for Chinese food every week!  Nah, it’s exactly what it is, a daydream and nothing more.  I know I’d be bored out of my mind if I had to sit all day.  I know my behind would get flatter and more spread out.  I know I’d never “hit the gym” even if I had a membership.

Some of my daydreams are hardly obtainable, like cleaning the clutter from this house.  There’s so much clutter and piles of crap everywhere, it gives me panic attacks.  Seriously.  This is what happens when a control freak marries a pack rat-slob.  As a teenager, I’d rearrange the furniture of my bedroom over and over until I had the most open space possible.  The more clean floor space, the happier I was.

I don’t know why I obsess over these things I cannot change.  I obsess, I get depressed, I become angry and downright frustrated over all these things I cannot change.  At work, I make a mental list of what drawer or closet I will tackle.  When I get finished with my daily chores and errands, I open the drawer or closest, filled to the brim with most of Shawn’s crap, small piles of nails and screws, stacks of baseball cards…

And I become so overwhelmed by it all that I might just stand there and sob.  Sometimes I simply slam it shut cursing him, “Why does he need to keep every single piece of garbage for me to clean out?”  Sometimes I just shrug my shoulders and think, “Eh, it’ll still be there later. ‘Seinfeld’ is coming on in a few minuets.”  Yes, I STILL watch “Seinfeld” reruns.

But nothing ever changes.  The drawer never gets cleaned out.  The Super Wal-Mart where I do most of my grocery shopping never becomes a fresh produce market.  The work lunches still have to made every single day.  The same trip must be made to the same bank every week.  Another month goes by and I didn’t go anywhere new or meet new people. 

Peter Pan had it right when he said he would never grow up.  At least children are equipped with the imaginations to take them someplace new where they can explore new and fantastic things.  Peter Pan must have known that the adult life was filled with nothing more than repeating the day before.  Adult life is nothing more than “Groundhog Day” without the added hilarity of Bill Murray.