The Riddler

I've been worried about the fact that everyone else has this cute little photograph of themselves beside their blog, and I have the webpage-issued silhouette with a question mark in it. Don't ask me why I worry about that, like I don't have other, more important, things to worry about. That's why I take Lexapro, people.

Anyway, it worries me because I don't have a digital camara that I know how to operate. I certainly don't have a clue how to go about uploading a picture (even if I had one) to replace the face with the question mark that reminds me of the Batman character called The Riddler.

Riddle me this, riddle me that...

And I have finally come to the conclusion that maybe that silhouette with the question mark says more about me than a photograph would. I'm almost 31 years old. I have three kids and a husband, and I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up. Worse than that, I don't even know who I am anymore. I can't remember any of the dreams I had when I was a teenager. I know I love animals, but lately I find myself tired of the responsibility of taking care of them. I know I've always wanted a college degree (or two or three), but I have no idea what they should be for and frankly I'm scared to death that I don't have the organizational skills and work ethic to achieve them anymore. When I accidentally find myself with some free time, I don't pursue things I'm interested in - I sleep. Granted, sleep is a commodity almost as rare as free time, but still....

When did I quit being me? Once a year, all my girlfriends and I get together at someone's house and spend a weekend catching up, talking about husbands and kids and jobs and bills and medical ailments. Sometimes we swap recipes because we all get tired of cooking the same ol' same ol'. Sometimes we drink too much, often we eat too much, and we don't sleep near enough. The slumber party is usually held in July, and I start getting emails in February telling me that the girls are already looking forward to it. For that brief weekend, I feel like me. The girl who was always ready for a road trip, loved to dance, laughed at everything, ate whatever she wanted and didn't worry about weight, and thought the world was hers on a platter. Where does she go the rest of the year?

Did she drown in dirty diapers? Did she die from the bacteria growing on the dishes piled in the kitchen sink? Did the laundry monster eat her whole? Or did she just grow up?

If this is what being a grown up is, I think I'll pass, thank you.

I'm going to find me, and I'm going to ask her what she really wants out of life. And I'm not going to tell her that it's not possible.

Anyone have any ideas where to look?