Friday, March 12, 2010

Excused Absense

I have,

1. Little privacy
2. Little space
3. Little peace
4. A plethora of non-blog-appropriate things weighing on my mind
5. Lost a muse (Japan)
6. Competed with/been sucked in by a screaming vortex of american idols, grey's anatomies, private practices, losts, offices, big loves, biggest losers and depressing local newsies.
7. A lack of words to describe this strange place I'm in.
8. Swim lessons
9. Cooking duties
10. No more excuses

Things might be a little messy for now, but we've been here before. I feel like there's a giant cork in my brain, and I can't get it out. Bbbbllllleeeeehhhhh. Just say what's on your mind, Suzie. I've turned off the computer screen so I'll stop editing myself. Gotta stop editing. Stop worrying. Stop worrying. I have things to say. Important ones. Things about gratitude, and children, and mud puddles. Things about weight watchers, bottles, a list of letters I owe. Making the choice to thrive, not survive. Preparing for the coming of a feisty 2-year-old, complete with pink cushy potty and attitude to spare. But all I can think about are relationships. How poor all of mine feel, and how I'm the common denominator in them. How many people I need to apologize to, and how daunting that task is. I get this way sometimes. Weepy. End of the worldy. Maybe it's hormones. Yeah. Blame it on those. We had a carbon monoxide scare the other day. Maybe that's still in my system. Maybe that's the cause of this imbalance I can't seem to shake. The hardest part of being aware of myself is knowing how much I've screwed up. How much work I have to do. How impossible it all feels. I found a quiet, sunny corner of the house in which to write a few days ago. It used to be my bedroom. I painted its walls a loud shade of cerulean blue . . . beacause that's how I was . . . LOUD. Always talking, singing, performing, presenting, explaining, planning, talking talking talking talking AAAGGGHHHHRRRRR!

On the outside, anyway.

My notebooks were mostly empty, then.

Now my brain won't shut up and my mouth trips on its words. I'm afraid of the chemical reaction that might take place when the cork comes out. AM I quieter on the outside? My introverted family probably doesn't think so. I try to get a break . . . from television, children, yelling, plastic toys, kitchen appliances, and questions involving "plans" and "what's next." I'm searching for a quiet outside of myself that I know I won't find within.

I don't know what to say now. Maybe I'm on the brink of something great. An epiphany. A change of plans. A new career. A place to focus my energy. What am I talking about, I don't have energy. No. No brinks. Just floating. Trying to make things right but not knowing where to start. You've been there, right? What happens next?


J said...

What happens next? Well, you float a bit, do some somersaults to keep yourself engaged since you're working with what you have, and eventually in all the somersaulting and floating, you bang your head on something. And it probably hurts a lot, but the fact that there is something there means solid ground isn't too far off. So you grab on and bit by bit, pull yourself down.

No guarantees on how long until the lost, floaty-feeling stops. But understanding your position makes it hang-on-able. Being disoriented and confused is way worse than being disoriented and lucid.

If you're really clear-headed (which you are!), you can sometimes even see the spots where you've got a good chance to anchor yourself down. You do have energy, but don't have a place to channel it, so when you find it...WHOOSH.

I know you'll be able to make it. Even people who thrive usually aren't thriving every minute of every day. If you can move from surviving to thriving even once per day, for even a fleeting moment, you've accomplished something really important. Something most people with more ground to stand on can't do. You are looking to thrive, so you'll find a way.

Suzie said...

Thanks, J. I miss you. And I love that we can use phrases like "end of the worldy" and "hang-on-able" comfortably.

Samantha said...

I really, really identify with your feelings. It's nice to see someone else goes through this stuff too. When will we meet each other?? Maybe in another lifetime...

Suzie said...

Samantha, I don't know! I really want to visit Chicago, though - maybe take a road trip, see a show, eat some pizza, get my hair all wind-tousled . . . I'll definitely let you know if and when. And thank you for your comment. I'm always afraid I'll hear crickets whenever I say "can I get an amen?!"