Sunday, September 23, 2012

Things are only as bad as you make them out to be


We went out for dinner last night and as I looked about you could categorize all tables into two or three standard types- families- parents+kids, groups of loud friends, or just couples. Our table stood out - couple+old father in tow.

Its not like B and I do not go out just by ourselves, we do that about as often as we go out with his dad. I wish it was a bit more tilted in our favour. Instead, we have already begun planning separate vacations as we realise we both need a break and taking it together and trying to arrange for my FIL is such a pain and essentially not an option. I am tired of being in this set up, of having to think of the FIL every time we need to plan anything. Almost immediately, I feel guilty, but I think I am entitled to some degree of feeling fed up of it. I really wish I knew more people dealing with this kind of stuff and how they dealt with it. I am also afraid of getting tired of it so soon, when we have a long long way to go with this.

With my FIL, its like having a child to care for, with all the associated headache but none of the associated gratification. We are debating the idea of having our own kid given that our hands are already full caretaking for his dad, and it is only going to get more complicated. If we end up deciding against a kid, it would be a very practical decision but one that I know will leave me feeling sorry for myself, bitter and even resentful. But then again I am not sure if all these pangs I get for having a kid are completely real, or they are a result of conditioning, hormones and endless facebook pictures of my entire peer group having babies left right and center as biological clocks tick.

My latest mantra is Things are only as bad as you make them out to be. I can make a choice and learn to come to terms with our unique arrangement, give in to occasional ranting and cribbing or spend most of my time cribbing and be generally morose.

And then there is the blasted paper from my post-doc I need to submit. I know that is causing a large chunk of my unhappiness. I am reminded of similar miserable times in Philly, when I was dragging my feet on my Ph.D. paper. Then I lived alone and had little else to do other than dwell in endless cycles of procrastination and self-flogging. Here I have B ensuring I am plied with coffee, food, words of encouragement, nagging reminders, freedom from chores, all so I can focus and get the damn paper out. But yet here I am, still struggling with it. Once I get this draft out, it will free up so much of my time to do more guilt-free fun stuff. So I better get back to it.