Oh dear. Back in the emotional sludge. The lack of sunshine isn't helping my already dour mood, I'm afraid. Sometimes it is just all too much. There's not much to do except lash oneself to the mast and ride out the storm. The squeeze of being between the generations is one of the hardest challenges facing the Baby Boomers. Our parents need us desperately, yet so do our children, and somewhere in there we are supposed to take care of ourselves, but that seems to get pushed off to last on the list. If it makes the list at all.
I'm trying to keep a sense of humor through everything that is going on, but it gets harder and harder. I feel inadequate to every task. A patch job is the best that I can manage at the moment, and it feels as if I'm trying to put pantyhose on an octopus. Just when I think I have things covered, something pops out somewhere else. Is Thanksgiving REALLY less than two weeks away? I can't wait to hug my children, but I'm already dreading putting my younger son back on the plane on the Sunday after the holiday. That's just dumb. Tonight I get to take care of my mother-in-law for a few hours on my own while Himself and his brother-in-law take Dad out for a Veterans' Day dinner. It's a lovely idea, but I'm not sure I'm equal to the task. It involves walking in circles for hours on end. She never naps, watches television, or sits except to eat. While feeling very sorry for her, I also wind up feeling sorry for myself and praying that I never get to that point. Everything feels sad.
The bright side is that I feel a poem forming. When the hurt gets to the point of bursting it usually comes out in the form of words, and the sharper the pain the brighter the images. Everyone has his/her bag of rocks to carry. I'll get through. Humor, faith, and poetry in no particular order. What a mighty arsenal!
I'm trying to keep a sense of humor through everything that is going on, but it gets harder and harder. I feel inadequate to every task. A patch job is the best that I can manage at the moment, and it feels as if I'm trying to put pantyhose on an octopus. Just when I think I have things covered, something pops out somewhere else. Is Thanksgiving REALLY less than two weeks away? I can't wait to hug my children, but I'm already dreading putting my younger son back on the plane on the Sunday after the holiday. That's just dumb. Tonight I get to take care of my mother-in-law for a few hours on my own while Himself and his brother-in-law take Dad out for a Veterans' Day dinner. It's a lovely idea, but I'm not sure I'm equal to the task. It involves walking in circles for hours on end. She never naps, watches television, or sits except to eat. While feeling very sorry for her, I also wind up feeling sorry for myself and praying that I never get to that point. Everything feels sad.
The bright side is that I feel a poem forming. When the hurt gets to the point of bursting it usually comes out in the form of words, and the sharper the pain the brighter the images. Everyone has his/her bag of rocks to carry. I'll get through. Humor, faith, and poetry in no particular order. What a mighty arsenal!
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