Aw man, I usually don’t get the Sunday blues anymore but the long weekend induced a bad case of them. It’s mostly because I did not get to finishing as many projects as I would like, though I did paint and amazingly enough, even drew. My eldest couldn’t find a coloring book so she commandeered me to draw some princesses. I was looking for some suitable models so I used my old copy of Sir Lancelot of the Lake.
(Wow, just checked out the price of this old book on Amazon and it’s certainly more than the 50 pence my parents spent on it in a used book store in London, ’83.)
And then to out-nerd me, R. wanted to watch “The Doctor’s Wife,” which she had already seen and unfathomably, I have not. So we watched it and it was fun, but I found myself pensive. When I was a kid and a teenager, I loved fantasy and science fiction. The idea of different worlds with different challenges that I could more relate too seemed so wonderful. Let’s face it, if the Doctor existed, and you could travel with him, it would be the best thing ever. But it’s not real. I found that I would simply get sucked into it and give up on my own life – because, after all, how could my own life ever be exciting?
It’s a strange thing to realize how ordinary you are. Really, how ordinary we all are. I presume at some point my daughters will come to the realization that neither one is the smartest or the prettiest or the nicest – because the world is infinite and most of us are in the middle of the continuum. So yes, it’s really fun to escape to someplace more exciting. I’m still trying to figure out how to break it to her that it’s okay to somewhere in the middle, that you can still do good things in the middle. But our culture is one that espouses individuality over everything else – though for the biggest problems we have, it will take many people working, not just one genius. It would be great if we had a Doctor, but what we really have is a bunch of companions trying to figure it out.