I sincerely feel like writing. And since my "I shouldn't's" overcome the desire more often than not, I figured I had better just let the desire wash over me and see what is left on the beach.
I guess I could start with what I did today . . . I woke crabbily and plodded to the shower. It was a nice shower. I don't remember thinking very much, though I must have because I came out clean and smelling of Herbal Essences. Then I heard an odd buzzing noise. This noise drew my attention and my eyes up to the lights above the mirror. Ah yes, another hornet. Or wasp or yellow-jacket. I don't really care to know the genus of the flying monstrosity that is just one of a dozen I have killed over the past month in the new house. Point is, he was there to frighten, peeve, and otherwise greet me as I emerged all warm and cozy from the shower.
Yes, a hornet INDOORS in January/February. I've heard that the only explanation of this is that there must be an active hive IN THE HOUSE. I know, it freaks me out too. I can't tell where they are coming from and my little friend this morning met his maker after an unsuccessful tango with our energy efficient light bulb, so I have yet to see where they go . . .
Anyway, then I dressed, dressed the children and before I knew it was in the car on my way to work. I worked at work. I didn't do what needed to be done before it needed to have been done, but I did other things that were on the docket. So I suppose that's a good thing.
The highlight of the day was taking the children to Bryson's Rock Shop on Washington. They went crazy in there! They have recently become enamoured of DreamPacker's rocks, gems and oils. Lemur especially is looking forward to a Grandma-Grandson date to the Gem Show this coming week. He desired a $70 Petrified Wood Ball on a golden stand, but opted for a $2 grab bag after he saw that Rivulet had one. They came home happy but by no means satiated. Rivulet declared, "This is the beginning of my rock collection!"
I have in my head the thoughts that should be, the thoughts that can't help but be and the thoughts that wish I had more time to think them. Sometimes it feels as though they come of their own accord, respectfully taking a number as I try to fill their order before they begin pushing each other and yelling "Hey, I was next!" to the thought that suddenly needed immediate attention.
Potty Training is one of these thoughts. Writing in general or in specific is one of the more patient loiterers of my mind. There is the self doubt, the self deprecation and the feeling of loss every month that I'm not expecting another child. Mostly, these stay in the background behind the joy and contentment that rules my greater waking hours until a trigger lurches them uncomfortably forward.
In those moments it is good to have Muad'Dib around. "It'll pass," he says as he strokes my hair, "In a few days, you'll feel your real feelings again and be okay."
He's right. He's almost always right . . . and I'm proud to be the sort of woman that can hear when her husband is right and just nuzzle up in the truth for a moment, enjoying the warmth and comfort it offers: "It'll pass."
Last year at this time I was beginning the Cleanse from Hell. Not my theater cleanse - that one worked super well. No, I mean the physical cleanse that kidnapped, tortured and overfed my emotional inner beast for four months. I'm still recovering in some ways.
I believe that, physically, the cleanse did a lot of good. But I was in no way prepared for the side effects of cleaning out one's body. As a warning: If you have taken ANY anti-depressants, pain medications, antibiotics, cold medicine, anti-psychotic medication, antinausea pills, sleeping pills or any other dosage of chemical weirdness it will be RANDOMLY re-released into your bloodstream as the cleanse does it's work.
Yikes. As a woman who took numerous antidepressants for five years, I thought that when I quit cold turkey and remained drug free for the next five years, I was home free. Nope. Turns out all of that stuff was still hiding out in my system.
Anyone want to know what I was doing last February through May? Trying to survive. That's what I was doing. I can't imagine how Mua'dDib handled it. I have small memory glimpses of him during that time, but the most I can remember of myself is sitting in front of my laptop watching T.V., eating, and trying not to think or feel anything.
And even then, Mua'dDib was right. It passed. It was awful. It was hard, it was trying. I wanted to leave. I wanted to check into an institution until I was past whatever it was. And instead, I rode it out. I shut a few people out of my life in the process . . . but I came out on the other side. And that's something.
So days like these that start weird, continue weird and end a little off . . . I can take those days. Especially if I can get that little reminder, "It'll pass." Because now I really know, can really believe that it can, will and does pass.
And I am still standing.
Quite honestly I am surprised that this is turning into the subject of my post. I intended never to speak of, let alone write about, this experience. I have a feeling there was more yelling and crying and hurt feelings than I would like to acknowledge. And yet this is what is scrambling to the front of my brain tonight.
And not for a journal entry either.
I don't know that someone needs to hear it, or that someone needs to read it so they can understand a little of why I behaved as I did last year. Perhaps it is simply my opportunity to declare that it is PAST and no longer PRESENT.
When I was fourteen, I had a dream that I was in Salt Lake City, walking around with a group of my Junior High girl-friends. They were all in flowing blue/pink dresses, much like long ballerina dresses. I was in jeans and a t-shirt. I knew we all wanted to get to the Chocolate Shoppe. I knew the way because I had been there before. I tried to lead my friends, but every one of them wanted to dally, look over the sights and even wander along unfamiliar or unmarked roads. I tried to urge them on, shepherd them to our destination as quickly and safely as possible. They did not listen to me.
Finally, we arrived at the shop. As mentioned, I had been there before. I had tasted all the chocolates and so knew the best of the bunch. I told them to choose the blueberry truffle. But no one would listen. One by one my friends chose another chocolate and one by one, they all fell to the ground. I don't know if they died or just fell asleep, but in the dream I was very distraught and disappointed.
This dream has come to me many times over the fourteen years since I had it. I still don't entirely understand it.
I'm not even sure how it applies, yet somehow feel that it does. So . . .
This is my gift for the night. It has been over a month since I wrote last. I have not read a book since the cleanse. I have little desire to read, honestly. And though saying so brings tears to my eyes, I have difficulty picking up a book. Even an old friendly book like Ender's Game or Rebecca. Actually, I still struggle with having a desire to DO things.
Despite that - despite all disappointments that hedge a normal life - I declare that I am a happy woman. Perhaps I should write about that next time. And until then, I hold close the fact that on days like this that start weird, continue weird and end just a little bit off . . .all in all I can take those days over the sort of days I had last year. Because I now have a firm testimony that "it" can, does and always will pass.
And I will remand standing.
As I am now.