I So Need To Get On Up

This popped up in my Facebook memories from six years ago which means I, myself, Mary Moon, have no memory of it all but hey- Thanks, Facebook!

I've been thinking all day long about how I have lost my motivation to do almost anything. It's gotten to the point where the thought of watering the porch plants almost makes me want to cry. I'm not taking walks, I'm not doing yard work, I haven't gotten either my flu shot or my latest covid vaccine. I've got all these things in my head that I could/should be doing like making an appointment to see a dermatologist, making an appointment to get my hair trimmed, finding the flannel to make Levon's name blanket, and so on and so forth and I am doing none of it. 
I spend most of the morning, every morning, reading blogs and commenting on blogs, perusing FB, reading the local paper, doing a crossword and then Wordle and another NYT's game called "Connections." This can easily take me up until noon at which time I start laundry, make the bed, and figure out what else I can (not) do for the rest of the day. 
It's ridiculous. 
Of course, some days I have to go to town to shop and some days I go to town to pick up August and Levon from school. I do cook us a decent supper every night. 
Put the point is, is that I don't WANT to do anything. I absolutely have to force myself to do the smallest tasks. 
Am I depressed? 
I ponder this. If I am, I don't think it's crippling. Because of anxieties I dread having to do things that are not part of my usual routine but my usual routine has become less and less productive. 

Today I did one load of laundry. One. And I have not folded and put it away yet. I worked in the garden, weeding for an hour or so and you know I do not hate doing that. But it all feels so overwhelming. I swept the kitchen which needed it badly. I watered the porch plants which takes me less than ten minutes but which seems to take all of my energy to do. The porches need sweeping. All of them. The oaks are dropping their leaves like crazy which is what they do here- they don't like to go until the new leaves are just about ready to push them off the branches anyway. The thought of actually doing something like raking is beyond my ability to imagine. There are downed branches in the yard that I need to pick up and put on the burn pile. There are cardboard boxes in the pantry that also need to be taken to the burn pile. There are places in the yard that need to be cleared and pruned of last year's growth, now dead and brown. I've never finished the bit of the front yard I was working on for awhile to pull the border grass and crocosmia and other assorted unwanted plants. I could be going through drawers and closets to winnow out all that stuff we don't need anymore. The books I pulled out of the library to take to donate somewhere (but where?) are still on the table in there, the project completely abandoned. 

I had a story idea last night and vowed to make an attempt at writing it but I can't really see that happening. 

So. What can I do about this except to sit here and gritch and whine about it? Please don't try and tell me that really, I'm doing plenty. I know I'm not. And although advising me to go out and start some volunteer gig is probably a great idea, that is not going to happen. I don't want to take yoga, I am not going to join a gym. 
I guess honestly, I just want to sit here and feel sorry for myself and feel guilty and old and definitely not in love with myself, losing myself in Facebook reels and jigsaw puzzles, the time passing like a dream with nothing to show for it. 

I had a friend at one time who told me that she woke up one day and she realized she was just absolutely in love with herself. 
I was first off, astounded. 
Secondly, I mystified. Was it even possible to be in love with oneself? Was it permitted? How did one come to that conclusion? 

Well, it turned out that she was absolutely a narcissist but that may or may not be the point here. Shouldn't we at least be able to tolerate ourselves? Shouldn't we be proud of some of the things that are uniquely us? 

Probably. How do we find the balance? I realize intellectually and also on a gut level that unless we are doing things that make us feel proud, we have no reason to be. 

Well, I do pick camellias. 

I guess that's something. 
I used to plant them, though. 

Here's something funny- this time of year there is some critter that makes a sound-song that I always thought was a bird. I've been trying and trying to get my Cornell bird app to identify it but it just won't. 
Guess what I just realized? 

It's not a bird. It's a frog. 
Well, it has a pretty song. It's a calling song, a three note announcement to the universe that it is here. 

That's probably what this blog is for me. 

Love...Ms. Moon