Lizzie is coming in tonight and it may be late when she gets here and she has to be at a funeral where she's going to sing at ten a.m. so it's not going to be much of a visit but on the way home from rehearsal I stopped to pick some camellias in a yard where no one lives because I don't think I have a bloom to pick in my own yard and there MUST be flowers of some sort by the bed.
There just must be, even if I haven't cleaned a damn thing. Even if there is dust everywhere.
I have a bit of a headache, not bad, but I always have a headache after we rehearse Act II, Scene 2 because it makes me cry and crying gives me a headache. It's the scene where M'Lynn breaks down and screams and rants and cries and we all cry. We sit or stand on that stage and we cry. We can't help it. We have to. The woman who plays M'Lynn has five kids of her own and most of the rest of us have kids, although not all, and her heart just breaks on that stage and ours break in response.
I have got to remember to get a box of Kleenex for Truvy's station.
So here I sit, my nose still a little stopped up with a tiny headacheita and I need to start cleaning shrimp and washing greens but I just can't seem to get motivated. My hands smell like arugula, that peppery smell rising to my nose because I just picked some and it pleases me and I look forward to eating it in a salad but...
I don't know.
Mr. Moon is in the woods and will be back soon and so right now it's just me and the dogs and Zeke is doing that incredibly annoying dog-thing of chew-sucking his flesh and I just went over and read Dishwasher's latest post and now, dammit, I am crying again.
I guess it's one of those nights. The pump got primed and the tears may have quit falling but they are trembling right there at the edge of the eye, waiting to spill, wanting to spill, somehow, someway.
Not a floodgate, more like one of those little water fountains where the water just slowly drips down a wall, perhaps, into a bed of ferns, so green they vibrate with life.
I am reading in Eat, Pray, Love about how she was able to get off her antidepressants in Rome and it makes me think that there must be something wrong with me because every time I try, the shit hits the fan in a most unpleasant way and no, I am not in Rome but I am here, in this place that is like a dream palace of life for a woman like me with love so thick around me that I can barely walk through it sometimes.
What IS wrong with me?
Oh hell. I don't know.
Maybe nothing that a little ibuprofen and Lexapro won't help. Maybe everything and I don't even know it.
Life is funny. Life is sad. Life is beautiful. Life is full of emptiness sometimes, despite everything good.
We are humans.
Flowers are more important than cleanliness and they say more too, about love.
Well. Shrimp. Greens. Rice.
Sunday night. Lis is coming. Mr. Moon will be home soon. Owen is coming tomorrow. I count my blessings, one by one, the rosary of beads that I finger to remind myself of goodness, to hold on to when my spirits dip into dark waters. I hold on tight as the current rushes by. I do not lose my grip.
And we go on, as we always do and then we wake up and the sun is shining and we don't even remember what our sorrow was about, we don't even check our pockets for our rosaries, we just get up and face the day, another bright day, and the birds sing so sweetly.
i have come and gone like a small bird of morning...joining you in singing in the light.
life this week has been a fragile bowl of complexities. the balancing requiring so much attention i have not had the luxury of leaving words to great you, as you so generously wait, ready and willing to fill our cups.
i love you and hope you know how deeply you reside within me....even when i am running off without a trace of written words....
Totally jealous. Blooming flowers in January. Somewhere on my blog, there are photos of the snow, upon snow, upon snow. It will snow, and the stuff doesn't melt before it snows again and we have even more snow. New snow, old snow. I'm sick of snow. We probably have about six inches out there.ReplyDelete
Crap, I forgot to take my celexa this weekend. Sad, that was the first thing I thought of when I read this :)ReplyDelete
I will be in Florida in April. For work, but it will also be my 30th birthday. Do you think I could come visit?
Please don't take antidepressant advice from that book.ReplyDelete
lol @ steph!...yesReplyDelete
Tomorrow is a chance to feel better and not have a headache. I hope all of that will be true for you. I am tired from a dull weekend. Night, night.ReplyDelete
LOVE those camellias! Shrimp is waiting in my fridge to be eaten tomorrow! YES! The birdies do sing soOOOOOoo pretty and sweet! mmmMMMMM! What's that youngun eating, chicken?!!ReplyDelete
Her situation and problems and chemistry are not yours, there's no point comparing yourself. I think it was the way she was living her life that was making her depressed, really, as well as her emotional tendencies. She got off the anti ds because she was changing the thing that was wrong. Not sure that can apply to you.ReplyDelete
Part of me is considering anti depressants at the moment, but I'm scared of getting stuck with them too. And of not being able to find/afford a good doctor either.
I posted something funny on your facebook wall...
Cleanliness is pleasant, but most things are more important indeed. I hope the short visit is a joy to you.ReplyDelete
LAughtr through tears is one of my favorite emotions.ReplyDelete
rebecca- I feel you, flying in my heart.ReplyDelete
Rebecca- Well, I had to go steal those.
SJ- Ooh! E-mail me, love.
Stephanie- No. I will not. Thanks.
Maggie- I am older and wiser and know that would not be a good idea.
Syd- I can't believe you had a dull weekend. Hope you got rest.
Turquoise Cro- Yes. That is my grandson eating his first fried chicken leg.
Jo- I think they can be of use. I do.
Mwa- It is a joy.
that book depressed me,ReplyDelete
I couldn't read eat pray love either.ReplyDelete
happy monday, mary moon. you are loved.
That Eat, Pray, Love author is a self-centered yuppy dumb ass. Don't let her make you feel bad about not launching your Lexapro.ReplyDelete
I love my Prozac. It's been a lifesaver.ReplyDelete
I love Tearful Dishwasher.
I loved eat pray love tho she is a spoiled self indulgent yuppy dumbass. Still enjoyed the book.
Love you the most.
deb- It's sort of depressing me too.ReplyDelete
Angella- You are loved too. Believe me.
Ms. Bastard-Beloved- I will not let that woman keep me from my sanity. I promise.
Michelle- You ARE a love. Always.
We are humans. You are right, My classes have taught me to explain depression and anxiety and the like in the most technical and clinical of terms. and yet i find that to be so inappropriate. sometimes it is the uncertainty of a situation that helps us to overcome our fears or sadness. It breaks us out of our comfort zone that provides that loving place to break down. Without that place we MUST be strong.... That much I have learned from life, not the classroom.ReplyDelete