It's just been one of those days although I have not been unaware or unappreciative of what I have found around me.
I did go for a walk, not through the woods and fields to the horse farm and back, but merely down the sidewalk to the county line and on a tangent or two down dirt lanes to see what I could see. The picture above was actually taken from just beside the sidewalk as the road crosses over a little tiny creeklet. The wisteria was growing over it and that green smudge you see on the right in the back is a bed of newfurled ferns, still with their tender baby color.
I never in a million years would have seen all of that from the car window.
I saw clothes hanging on lines including an apron I lusted after. I saw a Spanish bayonet growing in what must have been an abandoned house site and at another clearing I saw a huge azalea in full fuchsia bloom which surely grew right beside someone's house, no longer there. Could have been a trailer.
Saw a church with a sign out front that said, "Know God, Know Love. No God, No Love."
I picked roadside flowers, a grubby little handful, and brought them home.
I went and got gas, went to the library, went to Publix where I was so spacey that I almost ran directly into my neighbor. "I'm sorry," I said. "I'm in my own little world."
I'd been standing in front of the tortillas trying to decide which kind to get and it was killing me. First, flour or corn? I wanted flour today. Whole wheat or white? Low carb or regular? Large or huge? Handmade style or machine-made style? Organic or non? High fiber or normal fiber? Let's not even mention the eighteen different brands displayed there.
Jesus Mary and Joseph.
It's hard enough to make these decisions when I'm feeling almost normal but when I have the anxiety it's agony.
Well. So what? First world problems of the absolutely insignificant degree.
I'm listening to Lee Smith's Dimestore and in it she talks about her daddy's bipolar disease and how he referred to the depression part as feeling "kindly low." Every time it happened again and he had to be hospitalized, he would say, "I can't believe I let this happen again." Not even realizing it was an illness, he felt such guilt for "allowing" it to happen.
And you know, I understand that. I do not have bi-polar disease, for which I am incredibly grateful, and I have never had to be hospitalized for the issues I do struggle with, but I certainly understand the guilt of "letting this happen."
And I'll be fine. I'll probably be much better tomorrow.
May all be well with you.