Suburban Goddess

For months, Alex watched me toil away on my virtual farm on Farmville, often helping me “plow,” and “plant” crops. So when she received her own iPhone for her birthday, I looked for an app that simulated Farmville. I found a cute, slightly twisted version called “Zombie Farm,” which entails growing not only crops, but raising your own zombies as well. It’s a cute app, with child-friendly graphics; I didn’t know it was possible to make a zombie lovable, but these are. So Alex quickly began to create her own farm, harvesting small crops of the undead that walk around her farm mumbling “Brains!” in various cute little voices. Occasionally, the zombies think of rainbows, or flowers, or music, but when they focus on their favorite food, Alex will mumble in unison, “Brains!”

The first time she did it, I cracked up.  My little zombie.

Once you establish a small horde of zombies, you can attack nearby farmers. I was a little concerned this might be a bit much for Alex, but she quickly figured out the battle mode. If the zombies fell off track and started to think of something else, she taps them on the head and reminds them. “Brains! Focus! Brains!” until the little brain icon pops up again. “Mommy, I lik fighting the farmers. It’s fun!”

Um, okay.

In order to make your horde more powerful, it’s recommended you “starve” the zombies, which is simply refraining from fighting until all they can focus on is “Brains!” Since Alex was with her father all weekend, her phone was quite dead when I picked her up. We plugged it in when she went to bed last night, so she was eager to get back to her farm this morning… this is when I realized I might be an unfit mother.

“Mommy, all my zombies are thinking about brains!”

“That’s because they’re starving; they didn’t eat all weekend.”

“Wait a minute…. zombies EAT brains???”

Uh oh.

“Uh, yeah… but they’re just make-believe, honey. Like Spongebob or Scooby-Doo.”

“That’s GROSS.”

“It’s not real, Alex. It’s just a game.”

“That’s good. Because that’s kind of disgusting, actually.” She turned her focus back to the game.

“Okay, little zombie, you can have a brain for now, but you need to learn to eat cookies instead. Brains are GROSS.”

I had to drive my niece home this afternoon, which means I had to drive past my old neighborhood. It’s no surprise that I had to take a couple of steps down with the loss of my husband’s income; he made twice as much as I did. But it was difficult to drive through there and realize that I once called that beautiful neighborhood home.

Somehow, when I lived there, I just knew I didn’t belong. The women there were different; not bad, they just had different priorities. I mean, if you grow up and your biggest problem is that your dress doesn’t cost the most at the high school prom, well, you’re just not going to understand where I’m coming from. Manicures and cheerleading weren’t my life; my FAMILY was. Chip would get so frustrated with me because I just couldn’t fit in… he didn’t understand the conversations were simply something I had no clue about. I cannot justify spending exorbitant amounts of money on a cashmere sweater or designer shoes when I wanted camera equipment or a Wacom tablet. Mention CSS to these women and they had NO CLUE what I talking about. I was trapped in Stepford.

But it was so beautiful. I loved the clean lines of the matching brick houses with the immaculate BMW’s and Lexus sedans. People took pride in their belongings and took such good care of them. And driving through it was a reminder of all the material things I lost. Part of me thought for a moment; “I should have raked him over the coals.” I could have. I knew about the adultery the day my papers were filed; I could have filed an injunction. But I didn’t; I didn’t care. I didn’t want to be with someone who didn’t want me, and I wasn’t going to beg him to stay.

But the feeling passed quickly, and I was left with just a dull sadness for a life lost. I wish I could have kept my house and my car, but honestly, I wouldn’t have been happy there surrounded by those people. It’s strange, it was the house I had always dreamt of… everything I ever wanted since I was a little girl. And my dream house ended up being a complete nightmare. Money couldn’t save me, and it certainly didn’t make me happy.

That thought comforted me as I drove away. I have much less now, but I’m on a path that makes me happy. I’m living a life with people who understand what I’m talking about for a change. And money really has nothing to do with that, because they come from all walks of life; it’s just the fact that I’m finally taking an active role in my life instead of a passive one.

Now to carry that principle into all aspects of my life.  I think I just might find what I’m looking for.

Me:  I need a lifestyle change

D: Going to play for the other team?

Me: Hell no. Women are more annoying than men. Men are easy. Sex, food, ego. Women have hormones. UGH

D: But they have boobs and vaginas, so we put up with them

There’s only so much a heart can handle. Joy, depression, happiness, loss… the rollar coaster of life seems to gain speed as time passes. I’ve come to accept the low times, learning that their heartache gives way to immeasurable joys. And in those joyful moments, I try to embrace that time and not look ahead to the impending lows.

Through it all I continue to grow, to change, to learn and accept what I am capable of, to stretch the limits where I can. I will not settle, I will not give up, and I will not quit.

But I will change my situation.

The nice thing about so many failures in a lifetime is that you learn to, for lack of better terms, take a punch. Life has a mean right jab. I’ve taken a few… as well as a few roundhouse kicks, a couple of leg sweeps, and quite a few uppercuts. At this point, I stare back with defiance, sometimes maniacal laughter.

Hit me again. I’ve been knocked out, knocked down… but damn it, I’m getting back up. JUST TO SPITE YOU, if nothing else. Pride: my tragic flaw.

I’ve spent the past few years waiting, waiting, waiting. Waiting for something to change, waiting for life to hand me the things I want. Guess what? Life doesn’t hand you anything; Life only gives to those willing to fight for it. Well, I’ve fought. I started fighting fair, but was knocked to my knees… at that point, it became pure survival. Hair-pulling, kicks to the groin, anything, anything to get out with some semblance of a life imagined. But sometimes I feel like the whole thing has been for nothing.

What the hell am I fighting for? Am I even fighting for the right thing? What if I’ve been fighting the wrong fight all along? Maybe it’s time to move on… save the strength for something worth fighting for.

Or for something willing to fight for me.