Sunday, October 28, 2012

Getting Through This Day

We are home and the temperature is dropping and the sky is a gray bowl of cotton above us and I am wearing socks and long sleeves and a jacket and my body is aching as it seems to do all of the time now and for the very first time in however long it's been since I've begun this blog, I just don't feel like talking about any of it.
Not really.

We had a very good time in Fernandina Beach and we came home to a peaceful and tidy house and all is well. Fine. Lovely. Got laundry going, need to finish unpacking. Mr. Moon's off to town to show a truck to a potential buyer. He just drew bloody fluid off of Buster's ear and he'll probably be getting surgery on that tomorrow.
Life. You know?
Put things away, wash things, put those things away, take care of the animals, business, cook supper. Eat it, clean up. Go to sleep.

I feel as gray as the sky. As flat and uninteresting and uninterested as the sky is in all of us below it. I feel as if I've crossed some line into a world of even greater isolation. As much as I enjoyed our trip, I couldn't enjoy the shopping parts or the going-out-to-bars part. We walked into two bars after dinner one night and walked right out. I didn't want to deal with people or with stuff. Stuff. I'm so sick of stuff. The holiday season is coming up and here we go- one getting-together after another and I don't feel up for any of it. Not that I ever do but somehow, I feel even less inclined if that is even possible. I don't feel like discussing my ridiculous fears or my neuroses or my lack of interest in any sort of socialization at all.
Is this a mental illness?

It's getting cold. It's going to be in the thirties this week. A giant storm is about to deliver possible devastation to the Northeast. The presidential election is about to happen and I am so afraid. I have no desire to be with people and I am sorely bored with myself. I can't help but believe that there is nothing which comes out of my head or comes forth from my hands which is of any worth to this world at all.

It's gray and the wind through the trees sounds like bones rattling. My plants will be dying soon, or least giving the appearance of death. The only birds I've seen since I got home are my chickens, a hovering, floating group of vultures and a murder of crows.

Well, this is the way it is today. Maybe not tomorrow. We shall see. I keep thinking about a little dog we saw on the beach yesterday. She was free as a bird, no human in sight and if I have ever seen a happier creature, I don't recall when it may have been. She ran and raced with the incoming waves and there was no doubt that she was in love with it all- the winds, the foam skittering across the sand, the sand and water themselves. She was simply and completely at one with it all.

That was the closest thing to joy I've seen in awhile. I keep pulling the image out like a handkerchief and then putting it back in my pocket for safekeeping. I am sure there is something to be learned from it, that image. I am trying to figure out what that may be.


  1. Greetings from another planet, where the sky is blue and the sun powerful. I am sorry you're feeling down and believe you can blame it entirely on the weather today. Go ahead and do that today. As for the anti-socialization, I hear you. I've been in what my then two-year old Oliver used to say, "I hate everything and everybody" kind of mood. Blue skies and bright sun have lifted that feeling a bit, but I imagine it will come cascading back any moment. I love you.

  2. Cold and grey with high winds predicted for tomorrow in atlanta. i hope your present feeling passes with the weather and the election, if not sooner.

  3. Elizabeth- Just hold on to that good feeling. It looks like the walk was amazing with lots of light AND love which is perfect.

    Kristin- Thank you. I mean that.

    DTG- Truer words were never spoken. And yet- no words are being spoken on that topic. I love you, baby.

  4. The election has me very scared also. This is the first time I've ever felt really scared about a presidential election.

    I just watched this TED video on the introvert's need for quiet and solitude and thought you might enjoy it also. (Not that you're necessarily an introvert.)

  5. I'd love for you to get to Mexico. But if that doesn't happen, I hope this will pass quickly, and be better, as it often does.

  6. Welcome home. It was sunny here, but felt gray to me.

    I like the image of the happy dog at the beach. Sometimes, my Tucker reminds me to live in the NOW! and to be excited about the little things like a walk or crunch leaves or chasing a toy.

    I know you have pockets full of happy hankie memories - that's the kind of stuff I like to collect.


  7. Yesterday was our windy and rainy day. Today was breathtaking in its beauty. Nothing like fall here. I hope that your malaise will go away soon. These are the valleys that we traverse on occasion. The hills will be bright with sun when you arrive there.

  8. Maybe it's just a cranky day. If only you knew how much you give to this world, how much you give to me. I wish we lived closer and could sit together over a glass of red or a cup of coffee and remind each other we are not alone.

  9. It's dark, but it warms me like a mug of hot, black tea in my hands on a frigid, blustery day.

    I agree, the very real possibility of Romney at the helm of this country is pretty terrifying.

  10. Home again is not always nice. Sometimes it is just plain awful. Get a dose of those grandsons and call me in the morning. xo

  11. I think there really is a natural, seasonal malaise that settles in at this time of year. I definitely felt it this weekend. The key is, as you said, "Well, this is the way it is today. Maybe not tomorrow." All things pass! Your plants will flourish and bloom again next spring, and the birds will come back. I love the image of the dog. Dogs are the best antidote to any kind of bluesy feeling, because they're just so in the moment. They're the most zen creatures I know!

  12. I'm hoping that Steve is right, and that it's a natural, seasonal malaise . . . I've felt dull and without hope for a few weeks now. Waiting for a better day . . .
    I hope you're feeling brighter today x

  13. Only you can make an uneventful day make interesting to read. Or I should say a normal "life" day... Little things in a little life in a little house in a little town.
    We need those days to notice the difference with truly good days... ;o)))

  14. Rubye Jack- Thanks. I watched that video. I can so relate.

    Jo- I'm not sure that she's really survived. Very well, anyway.

    Mel- Sometimes it's just hard to get to those memories. The good ones.

    Syd- I am trying to remember that.

    Angella- You warm me. Always. Whether here or there. You just warm me.

    Ajax- The worse for me is the idea of living in a country where the majority of the people voted for such an unqualified, smug ass.

    Birdie- Will do.

    Denise- Not MY dogs but that one. Yes.

    Steve- I know. I know. But sometimes it's just hard as fuck.

    Bugerlugs- I wish the same for you, honey.

    Photocat- That may be true.

  15. I hear you what you're saying. I'll tell you something that I haven't mentioned out loud yet, I went and signed up as a volunteer in a low barrier homeless shelter, need a criminal record check, a course in non violent crisis intervention, and I have three back to back sessions lined up, which means I will spend the night there. It's getting cold here already, the shelters are open for business. Something about this, about getting out of my own head, I think it's what i need. If only it didn't involve hours of driving.

  16. Oh, thank you. Now I have that image to help me along too. Perfect.

    Hang in there MM.
    This is what happens around now, remember?
    It's not mental illness. It's PTSD.

  17. Deirdre- Lord, child. You are about ten million lives ahead of me on the reincarnation wheel. I just love you to pieces for that.

    Jo- Ha!

    Bethany- I keep thinking about that. PTSD? Really? I think about that and let out a big breath. I sure do love you.

  18. I don't discuss how I feel about the holidays with people. I just tell them thanks, but no, and stay the fuck home.

  19. Yes, for sure PTSD.
    It's very obvious.
    Can't you see the pattern?

    Course, I'm no doctor/therapist, but I play one in my mind. ;-)

    Love you too.


Tell me, sweeties. Tell me what you think.