Finding Forty, Day 39; Independence Day

Blah. Blech. I feel like the Wench that Stole 4th of July or at least the heartless lady who popped a squat and pissed all over it.

Since the moment I woke up this morning, I've carried with me a mopey, agitated, exhausted attitude.

Part of it is attributed to the Benadryl I took last night for a case of hives that emerged right before bedtime, another fair share can be doled out to my lovely, charming friend Ms. PMS, but another portion of it is just my general feeling of yuck.

My Facebook friends' status updates have bugged the shit out of me today. I KNOW it's the 4th of July. Why does everyone and their dog have to post about it on my social networking site of choice? Is everyone I know truly THAT thankful and THAT happy? Ugh.

Outside my window, my husband and kids, along with a gaggle of neighborhood friends are lighting fireworks, despite it being illegal in the city limits. In the past, the laughter and smiles of my children, illuminated by the sizzling glow of a sparkler held at arm's length, would warm my heart. This year, I just feel tired and done.

Trust me, I feel guilt because of this. It used to matter to me what the boy's wore on days like today. I'd coordinate some semblance of red, white and blue t's with plaid or seersucker shorts. They'd don their leather fisherman sandals and I'd feel sassy in my skort as I carried my patriotic dessert of blueberries, strawberries, cake and Cool Whip into whatever pot luck party we were either hosting or attending.

This year, I can barely fit into my white shorts and navy and white sailor shirt. As I type this, my shorts are completely unbuttoned and unzipped, granny white panties the only barrier between my bloated belly and the summer air. As for the kids, I've no idea what they are wearing.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Why, with the family I have, the life I've built over these decades with A, do I feel so trapped and suffocated? There is nothing independent about how I feel today.

And, honestly, I despise myself for these feelings.

The question I ask over and over and over again is, "Why can't I just be happy?" It seems so simple, should be so easy. I am blessed beyond belief.

I do give thanks tonight for the loved ones in my life. I am grateful to live in a country where I am bestowed the freedoms I so enjoy. Somehow, I will figure all this out.

But not tonight. My bra is cutting into my back, I need a tall, glass of water, and some comfy, elastic waist pajamas are calling my name.