Illimitable Chaos

I stole my title from Virginia Woolf.  But that's only just a little significant.  The more significant is it's meaning.

Illimitable Chaos. It pretty often seems like the perfect definition of my life.  And on this day of celebration for parenthood, it seems even more perfect, even more poignant.  Especially after calling my  beloved father this morning and, after wishing him the Happiest of Father's Day, having him inform me that the State of North Carolina wants to… blah blah blah- basically, one more sticky situation out of which I have get myself.  By myself.

And that led to me thinking about a) how much my father and mother are just the tickets in this looney life of mine and b) how very many things I do and have done over time with the solitude of independence and under the auspices of… Kate.*

In a few months, I will reach that weird ticking-clock moment of assumed badness that every lucky soul reaches at some point… 30. And at thirty (again, assuming I make it and things as they are now have not changed much) I will be single and childless.  I will be the wander-lusty parent to a dog who is great company when he's not trying to chew some part of my life apart.  I will be the chaotic wild-child who prefers chance to choice and who seems to make all of the wrong choices when forced to.  I will be the anorexic, struggling to get well.  I will be the sister and daughter, the witch and the friend.

I will be the one who people look at, sigh and shake their heads because I am a hopeless cause- a whirlwind of illimitable chaos.  The questions will get more and more difficult to answer- until those same people just stop asking them:

"Don't you want to [insert some appropriate life path here]?"

"But don't you want to [see above]?"

"Do you even have a biological clock?"

The answers… the answer… The jokes won't cut it after a while.  "Don't you want to get married?" "Haha.. I'd love to, but don't know anyone who could put up with me for long enough to accomplish that task"… Not going to fly anymore.  "Don't you want to have kids?" (see above, again, for a similar answer).   "Do you even have a biological clock?" …

Well Hell, people, I should be dead by now anyway, at least two times over.  So whatever biological clock I do or do not have has either been broken or overridden.  I have cheated it enough times.  So it's either not ticking at all or ticking merrily away just like everyone else's.  And I'm okay with that.  And at thirty I will be okay with that, still.

My chaos is mine.  And I made it that way purposefully.

But on days like today, I am reminded of how truly singular that purpose is, that chaos is.  Because at thirty, and at this time next year there is still a very good chance that I will only ever be saying Happy Mother's Day to my own mother and Happy Father's Day to my own father.  That my longstanding relationship with chaos will still be very much intact and active.

Here's to growing up and getting it.

And until next time, Happy Father's Day to all you Fathers.  Happy Mother's Day (late) to all you Mothers.



*Don't get me wrong.  I fought tooth and nail for that independence.  I love it and I love what I am, in my own way.