I don’t want fruit at the bottom of my yogurt or yogurt instead of ice cream.
I don’t want videos screaming at me when I’m scrolling through Facebook while lying quietly in my son’s room waiting for him to fall asleep.
I don’t want to sleep on the wrong side of the bed. I don’t want to lie in the bed I’ve made. I don’t want to make the bed only to have them mess it up next time they walk into the room.
I don’t want the room to be full of this stuff I don’t love and don’t use and don’t like but feel too scared to throw away. I don’t want to throw away stuff that doesn’t fit even though it makes me feel suicidal and homicidal and regicidal (quick! hide your kings!) to wear shit that doesn’t fit.
I don’t want J. Crew to guilt me into thinking I need a fucking shoe strategy for spring. I have a shoe strategy: try to wear matching ones that aren’t hideous. I don’t want to up-sold, down-graded, or side-swiped.
I don’t want to trick myself into thinking the snow is gone forever and my kids will sleep in now because it’s dark outside at 7 AM. No more tricks. I don’t want a life that relies on tricks to get me through the long hours when snack is over and dinner is, like, hours away.
I don’t want to hear my own excuses. I can’t because I didn’t….or I haven’t… or I won’t. I don’t want to hear my tongue thick with disappointment about this or that.
I don’t want to burst into tears when the kids have eaten the mango I hid for myself.
I don’t want to cry when someone shows me my mistakes. I don’t want to push away the idea that other people’s words are like presents in the air that I catch with both hands and open like I believe they are from goddamned Tiffany’s.
I don’t want to wish I was somewhere else when I’m right here. I don’t want to pray for more money so we can have a vacation when who am I kidding? I hate travel and find vacations traumatizing.
I don’t want to beg God for more Grace, though I clearly need it (I just wish I didn’t need quite so much). I don’t want to chase the next thing when I’m not sure what exactly this thing is I’m holding right here.
I don’t want to sneeze on those mornings my back is aching like knives on my spine. I don’t want to pay extra for toppings or have to ask for dressing on the side.
I don’t want goddamned egg whites in my omelette or dry-ass toast. I don’t want to have half the dessert and all of the guilt. I don’t want to worry about putting my jeans in the dryer or have to remember the insurance cards.
I don’t want to forget to validate my parking or update my address with the credit card company. I don’t want to check the fat, remember the passwords, stir the sauce or pinch the salt.
I don’t want to check: spelling, the oil, the thermostat, the roads.
I don’t want to tie it up with a bow.