The neighbors are out there power washing their deck. It's noisy, but it's almost 11:30 on a Saturday morning, and really, good for them. I, on the other hand, sit here surrounded by so many things to do that I am doing the square root of nothing, paralyzed by the overwhelming size of each task. This is my first day off in quite a while, and it's a lovely morning. The temptation to sit on the couch and catch up with the last season of "Desperate Housewives" is strong. Equally strong is the desire to gather all the old magazines which are creating teetering piles, the "Oprahs" and the virginal "Writers' Digests", and drive over to my doctor's office, scattering them throughout the waiting rooms in the building. Or to take Mother's clothes out of the front hall closet and donate them to Morgan Memorial, giving us more room, and me another iota of closure. Or to tackle the mountains of laundry, clean and otherwise, which are taking over my bedroom like some monster in a Grade D film. At the very least I should go for a walk or cut the grass. But plantar fasciitis is tuning up, and by the end of a five hour shift at the mall I'm walking with a cane, and I don't bloody feel like it. So I'll set the timer on the stove and do fifteen minutes of something. Anything. But first I'll have my tea. And maybe a biscuit.
The fact is, with all this lovely weather and a day to myself, I am down in the dumps. Finally I have time to stop and think and breathe, and the Bogeyman has caught up with me. Griefs which I thought were healing are not, and will not until I sit with them, listen to them, maybe write a poem about them, and move on. I'm disappointed in myself that finally getting back into the work force hasn't produced the job of my dreams, but one part time job which I very much like, and one in retail, which I very much don't. And the excitement of re-inventing myself has become the resignation to another round of "Aw well, it's something," but I was hoping for so much more.
So it's tea and a biscuit and something for now. Because at least that much I can still control.
The fact is, with all this lovely weather and a day to myself, I am down in the dumps. Finally I have time to stop and think and breathe, and the Bogeyman has caught up with me. Griefs which I thought were healing are not, and will not until I sit with them, listen to them, maybe write a poem about them, and move on. I'm disappointed in myself that finally getting back into the work force hasn't produced the job of my dreams, but one part time job which I very much like, and one in retail, which I very much don't. And the excitement of re-inventing myself has become the resignation to another round of "Aw well, it's something," but I was hoping for so much more.
So it's tea and a biscuit and something for now. Because at least that much I can still control.
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