Diana Darby ** "I V" ** Intravenous

Scarface

If it were up to me,
I don’t think I would have ever gotten a dog.
The only reason I had one in my life at all
was because he came to me
and I felt like I had no other choice but to keep him.
Left to my own devices,
I never would have taken the plunge.
I would have wanted to,
but I would have stopped and thought about the reality
of
feedings,
vet appointments,
obedience,
and
poop,
and I would have walked away.
Saying yes to things,
anything,
is getting harder and harder for me to do.
I tend to over think things.
I always have.
I’ve talked myself out of motherhood and marriage,
trips to Mexico and the Dominica Republic,
Japan, going out to dinner on New Years Eve,
and the Midnight Jamboree.
I don’t know if I’m being smart or stupid.
But the net result is I am making my world smaller and smaller
and my experiences fewer and fewer.
It is as if the picture book of my life has stopped adding pages.
Most people don’t contemplate the broken ankles and possible torn Achilles
of ski trips and marathons,
they just go do them
and deal with the doctor bills later.
They send out Christmas photos of their children
and marvel at how fast they are growing
while I keep a pregnancy test on my bathroom counter
and live in terror of what I would do if I ever saw a plus in the little window.
They plan dinners and parties and vacations
and work forty hours a week while they raise two children
while I eat at home alone
and barely keep my head afloat with no one but myself
to care for.
As for dinner parties,
I’ve never had one
nor would I know how.
Other people seem to open up their arms and embrace life.
Their lives are about having experiences,
good and bad ones.
My life is about escaping
with as few scars as possible.