A Task List of Tears
Finding the perfect song for a good car cry
I have no toilet paper in my house therefore, I am a failure.
The monotonous view of the same parking lot — the one I already visiting 2 times that week — filled my windshield as I shuffled through my ‘liked’ songs on Spotify, all of them hitting the wrong mood. 90s hip-hop, 2000s house, all the wrong tempo and beat for a pulse that was just one note away from a good car cry.
Nothing particular set me off, it was just one of those mornings where I unnecessarily walked up and down the stairs 14 times because I forgot something every time with a kid on my hip, 80lb dog under my feet.
I heard the first note of the song blurt through my speakers.
‘Ah, this is it, this is the song’
I gave a little clap and felt the brew of a first tear fill my ducts.
“Maybe we could make it alrightttt…”
The tires continued to move over the beaten blacktop as I pulled out of the parking spot and began to mouth the words to myself, knowing the gesture would start to break up the lump in my throat, like a dam holding in the floods. As I pulled onto the highway, the crescendo felt like it was simultaneously picking up with my speed.
We’ve lived in our home for over a year and our bedroom is still in need of pictures on the walls and tchotchkes in the corner therefore, I am a failure.
Sometimes my brain does this thing that makes me believe the tiniest inconveniences and forgotten tasks demeans my existence as a human being. That a forgotten piece of paper on the table demotes my skills as a cleanly person, too many crumbs on the kitchen floor make me a mess, that I often wait last minute to do things titles me as unorganized.
When really, I’m just a mom with a lot of shit going on.
When really, I am a human taking on a full plate of tasks when the gas is on half empty.
When really, I am kind of okay with being mediocre.
”Maybe we could make it somehow…”
I know the simple task of filing away old bills and vacuuming the floor more often is something menial and easily achieved, but these tiny tasks often feel heavy when there’s so many other tiny tasks filled up with one another.
And yet, I am bored out of my god damn mind. My brain begs for a conversation that has nothing to do with how my child is eating or what we have planned coming up for the holidays.
In my spare time I delete marketing emails from every store I’ve even been to, I re-arrange the apps on my phone, I do the 29th load of laundry, I cross the tasks off my list that will eventually become more tasks.
I have a confession; I hate doing research. I hate ‘looking something up.’ I hate just not knowing the answer.
“And it hurts, with, ev-er-y heat beat…”
Does this make me a know it all? A control freak? A lazy person? Possibly.
Am I okay with that? It’s debatable.
Two things can be true at once. Being a know it all does not mean you know enough, not knowing enough does not mean you know nothing.
One night as my husband and I were brushing our teeth he asked if our bathroom was the spot where I go to cry.
”My car has seen more tears,” I replied through toothpaste suds and a straight face, for once my sarcasm taking a backseat.
The droplets came swiftly and did what they were supposed to do, acting as a catharsis for an invisible tension. They say tears are holy water and I do not disagree one bit even when I don’t consider myself a holy person by any means.
I let them drip down my face as dramatic mouth sounds escape from my lips, some elbow grease on the cleanse, a little extra bravado to get the job done.
The task has been completed, time to check it off the list.
And then when I get home, my period arrives. The world is back on its correct axis.