If I’d paid more attention in high school science class, instead of sucking up to the teacher to get another pass to the music theory lab, I’d probably be able to tell you about the Theory of Relativity.  As it is, we’re lucky I know that it’s something scientific. (I think) I refuse to Google it, because I’ve lived this long without knowing. I think I’m good.

I think a lot about how things are, comparatively, relatively.

This week with my mother has been a good week. Relatively.

Geeklet sleeps better than Cupcake did at this age. Comparatively.

I’m thin and healthy. Relatively. Or, I’m a fat cow and I really should be doing more to maintain my weight and appearance. Comparatively.

Geeklet cries more than Cupcake did.

The people at work aren’t as friendly as my last set of coworkers.

I’ve got it together. It’s all falling apart around me.

It’s all relative. It’s all in the way you phrase it, how you wrap it, what you surround it with. It’s all about where you’re standing, your perspective.

Maybe life sucks right now.

Maybe it’s awesome.

It’s all relative.

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It’s human nature to compare. To judge. To weigh the similarities and differences. Lovers, restaurants, jobs, monies, degrees, popularity.  Sometimes I really hate it. Sometimes, it serves me well. I try to put a positive spin on it.

If I’m not OK, I’m dead.

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Sometimes my mission to be positive and keep it together fails. Sometimes I’m yelling at my husband because I wanted him to put the laundry away and he didn’t know because I was stewing over it silently. Sometimes I get shrill and I hate it, I’m sure he’ll leave me, because there has to be something better than all this drama out there for him.

Relatively.

Sometimes I wonder if it’s better to stick with what our routine and our commitments are now, or if we should uproot and start over. Which drama is worse? Which is more deeply hurtful or selfish? Comparatively, that is.

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“How are you doing?” I have a tendency to say something like, “Pretty well, considering.” Or, “I’ve been better” or “I could be worse.”

It’s all about how you view it, think of it, frame it.

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I hear all the time that I’m very mature, more than is expected. Probably because most 24 year olds are headed to the clubs on Saturday night, not softly hushing their baby and toddler to sleep, furiously attempting to start up a side business, juggling a family and work and side work and life.

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It’s the comparison that helps keep me sane. I know it won’t be this bad one day. I know that it could be worse. I’ve had worse days. I’ve had days where I thought my heart was going to bleed out onto the floor. I’ve had days where I was very, very seriously contemplating driving my car full speed into a tree. I don’t have those days anymore. I’m better.

Not perfect.

Not completely free of mood swings and depression.

But better.

If I’m not OK, I’m dead.

I’m not Dead.

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Life is good right now. I have two beautiful children. I have a home. We have jobs. Food. Transportation. I wish I had more friends in the area, and I wish we could buy a home. I wish we had less drama with my mother but it’s not all bad.

Generally, our lives our good.

Our lives are great – perfect – amazing, comparatively.

So I’ll take that. I’ll be thankful. I’ll try to drink it in.  Because, relatively, this might be the best day, week, hour, year.