I've just read through some of my recent posts and there seems to be a common theme - fatigue. I keep whining about how tired I am. It prompted me to look back over some recent e-mails and the same thing is happening there too.
I'm actually beyond tired. I feel...bankrupt. Completely spent. Nothing left.
The bitch of it is that I need to keep going. I have to. Too many people need me and I can't stop to fill up the tank. I'm a car running on fumes and frankly, I'm a little worried that I'll end up in an emotional ditch somewhere and no one will be able to find me. The real me - the one I want to be - will be so lost in the mire of mental mud and emotional muck that I'll never be able to resurface.
I've lost so much of her already.
It reminds me of Back to the Future when Marty McFly's family is slowly disappearing in the photograph as time passes by. He know that getting back to his life - his real life - is the only hope there is of restoring things as they should be for himself and his family.
I'm finding out that I'm ill-equipped for this life thing. I'm not very good at it. I'm struggling in every area and it's overwhelming. Right or wrong, I compare myself to others my age and I'm ashamed that I haven't done better by my daughter, my friends, my family, myself. The feeling of failure is paralyzing which, of course, just sinks you deeper into the failure. For someone that wanted so much from life and had so many dreams, I sure am lame.
Wonder where I can get a Delorean and some plutonium?
Thursday, August 23, 2012
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
Writing
"Even if it's crap, just get it on the page." ~ Author unknown
At least once a week someone tells me that I should be a writer. Whether it's from something witty I wrote on Facebook or a funny story I just told or when someone finds out about what my family has been through, it's always the same - "You should be a writer."
Really?
My first thought is always, But I have nothing to say. And my second thought is, And even if I did, who would be interested enough to read it?
I am not being coy or humble. I honestly have no idea who on earth would be interested in anything I might have to say - enough to take time out of their lives to actually read any of it. I just ramble. I'm a rambler. I can't imagine that I'd have enough cohesive thoughts in any of these ramblings to string enough sentences together into something compelling enough to be worth reading.
Even now I sit here, I'm like Meg Ryan in You've Got Mail as she searches her brain trying to think of how to tell someone off, "Nothing..."
I've Got Nothing.
That should be the title to my book.
And yet, here I am writing on this blog. Feeling compelled, pushed, driven, to write my ramblings. I've heard that a true writer - someone who is a writer in their heart - can't NOT write. That's how I feel. Even if I know I'm rambling (and I know I am) I have to write. Get it on the page.
Even if it's crap.
At least once a week someone tells me that I should be a writer. Whether it's from something witty I wrote on Facebook or a funny story I just told or when someone finds out about what my family has been through, it's always the same - "You should be a writer."
Really?
My first thought is always, But I have nothing to say. And my second thought is, And even if I did, who would be interested enough to read it?
I am not being coy or humble. I honestly have no idea who on earth would be interested in anything I might have to say - enough to take time out of their lives to actually read any of it. I just ramble. I'm a rambler. I can't imagine that I'd have enough cohesive thoughts in any of these ramblings to string enough sentences together into something compelling enough to be worth reading.
Even now I sit here, I'm like Meg Ryan in You've Got Mail as she searches her brain trying to think of how to tell someone off, "Nothing..."
I've Got Nothing.
That should be the title to my book.
And yet, here I am writing on this blog. Feeling compelled, pushed, driven, to write my ramblings. I've heard that a true writer - someone who is a writer in their heart - can't NOT write. That's how I feel. Even if I know I'm rambling (and I know I am) I have to write. Get it on the page.
Even if it's crap.
Sunday, August 19, 2012
Listening
"God speaks in the silence of the heart. Listening is the beginning of prayer."
~Mother Teresa
Maybe this is what I need. What I was trying to say in my previous post. Silence. Tuning out of all of the noise so I can just listen for a change. I feel like all I do it volley everything that comes at me all day everyday and I have no time to just stop, breathe, and focus long enough to come up with any answers or solutions. To just listen - to God, myself and my own heart.
Sometimes, I wonder too if I'm afraid to listen, to hear whatever I need to hear because I know I won't like it. I know that some of the answers I'll receive and conclusions I'll come to will be the hard path - the scary one - but the right one.
I'm so tired. Too tired to face what's right and true for me?
Apparently.
Maybe this is what I need. What I was trying to say in my previous post. Silence. Tuning out of all of the noise so I can just listen for a change. I feel like all I do it volley everything that comes at me all day everyday and I have no time to just stop, breathe, and focus long enough to come up with any answers or solutions. To just listen - to God, myself and my own heart.
Sometimes, I wonder too if I'm afraid to listen, to hear whatever I need to hear because I know I won't like it. I know that some of the answers I'll receive and conclusions I'll come to will be the hard path - the scary one - but the right one.
I'm so tired. Too tired to face what's right and true for me?
Apparently.
Saturday, August 18, 2012
Underground
Ever feel like disappearing for a while? I mean, I know that most of us dream of an extended holiday at some sort of exotic beach resort or a relaxing spa. Time to rejuvenate and rest, even have some fun.
But I'm not talking about that.
I'm talking about needing to take a break from all of the input and distractions within your regular day-to-day life. The phone calls, the texts, the e-mails, Facebook, Pinterest, doorbells, websites, projects, work, the people - oh, the PEOPLE. The people that drive you absolutely batshit crazy.
A hibernation of sorts. An unplugging from all of the external forces demanding our attention, trying to sell us something, convince of something, influence us towards their agendas, needing from us. Always needing...
I feel the desire for that right now. Desperately. I feel like I'm drowning. Choking. Gagging on all of the problems I've had before me every minute of every day for a very long time now. No matter how much I try to untangle my life, it just gets more tangled. More problematic. More out of my reach. There is no joy. Only labor.
I'm so tired. So exhausted.
I can't fix anything that's wrong, and I can't shake the feeling that if I could just take a break and get my footing again, I could maybe take some steps towards more peace of mind, more solutions, more joy.
I don't know. I just don't know...
But I'm not talking about that.
I'm talking about needing to take a break from all of the input and distractions within your regular day-to-day life. The phone calls, the texts, the e-mails, Facebook, Pinterest, doorbells, websites, projects, work, the people - oh, the PEOPLE. The people that drive you absolutely batshit crazy.
A hibernation of sorts. An unplugging from all of the external forces demanding our attention, trying to sell us something, convince of something, influence us towards their agendas, needing from us. Always needing...
I feel the desire for that right now. Desperately. I feel like I'm drowning. Choking. Gagging on all of the problems I've had before me every minute of every day for a very long time now. No matter how much I try to untangle my life, it just gets more tangled. More problematic. More out of my reach. There is no joy. Only labor.
I'm so tired. So exhausted.
I can't fix anything that's wrong, and I can't shake the feeling that if I could just take a break and get my footing again, I could maybe take some steps towards more peace of mind, more solutions, more joy.
I don't know. I just don't know...
Thursday, July 26, 2012
The Hard Conversations
The hard conversations.
Man, they suck.
I had one today and now I have the, I've-bawled-my-eyes-out-so-now-my-sinuses-are-killing-me headache to prove it.
Marriage is a bitch. I said the tough stuff that a nice person (like me) tries their very best not to say. But they had to be said because they're the truth and not saying them for so long was becoming a big part of the problem. Although, having said that, I'm not sure saying them solved anything. Maybe a baby step in that direction though. I have no idea.
I've been thinking about marriage. I don't know ANYONE who is happily married. No one. It's like we're all destined to be miserable through our whole 30s and 40s. Of course, I can't help but hope that our 50s will be better - fingers crossed, clinging to hope, oh my god, I will just gouge my eyes out if they aren't - better.
I'm exhausted. Tapped out. Empty tank.
Tomorrow's another day though, and there's always hope in that.
Man, they suck.
I had one today and now I have the, I've-bawled-my-eyes-out-so-now-my-sinuses-are-killing-me headache to prove it.
Marriage is a bitch. I said the tough stuff that a nice person (like me) tries their very best not to say. But they had to be said because they're the truth and not saying them for so long was becoming a big part of the problem. Although, having said that, I'm not sure saying them solved anything. Maybe a baby step in that direction though. I have no idea.
I've been thinking about marriage. I don't know ANYONE who is happily married. No one. It's like we're all destined to be miserable through our whole 30s and 40s. Of course, I can't help but hope that our 50s will be better - fingers crossed, clinging to hope, oh my god, I will just gouge my eyes out if they aren't - better.
I'm exhausted. Tapped out. Empty tank.
Tomorrow's another day though, and there's always hope in that.
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
Losing Weight
What does a key weigh?
An ounce?
Less?
Without realizing it, I was about to find out. I walked into what would soon be my former office, looked around, and it hit me that all of the little nooks and crannies that one makes their own when they're given a space to dwell in, will no longer be mine. It's amazing how intimate we become with space and things in an avid quest to make them our own - personalize them - create something that we can feel comfortable in. There are the drawers in your desk and what you put where. The things you hang on the wall - things that make you smile or think or that remind you to be brave or kind or that inspire you. How you arrange your desktop and what photographs you choose to put there. Whether or not you choose soft lighting with some lamps you've brought from home or if you're okay with the overhead lights. It's all a reflection of who we are and how we want to present ourselves to others.
As I moved about my office, I removed things from the bulletin board, filled a small box with a toiletries bag I kept in the cabinet, some office supplies that I bought with my own money and some snacks from the desk. I left the candy jar I bought long ago hoping that it will still be enjoyed by those that remained, and continue to be a reason for people to stop by so connections could be made - connections that wouldn't have been made if it weren't for the candy jar. Everybody likes candy. Everybody needs connection to others. Candy creates connections.
After I was done, I found an envelope, took one last look around, turned off the lights and shut the door. I put my key in the lock and turned it. The familiar click sounded, securing all that was inside. I put the key in the envelope, slid it under the door and looked at it through the door window for a moment. Then walked away.
It was then that I figured out what a key weighs.
About 500 pounds, give or take.
500 pounds of stress and pressure and unhappiness and humiliation were gone. I was free of it. Those things weren't my problem anymore. I had made a tough decision and I was the better for it. Even if the unknown future was pretty scary, I knew that it had to be better than what I just walked away from. It made me feel stronger and lighter and clearer than I had for so long.
And I was proud of myself.
An unfamiliar feeling.
But I could get used to it.
An ounce?
Less?
Without realizing it, I was about to find out. I walked into what would soon be my former office, looked around, and it hit me that all of the little nooks and crannies that one makes their own when they're given a space to dwell in, will no longer be mine. It's amazing how intimate we become with space and things in an avid quest to make them our own - personalize them - create something that we can feel comfortable in. There are the drawers in your desk and what you put where. The things you hang on the wall - things that make you smile or think or that remind you to be brave or kind or that inspire you. How you arrange your desktop and what photographs you choose to put there. Whether or not you choose soft lighting with some lamps you've brought from home or if you're okay with the overhead lights. It's all a reflection of who we are and how we want to present ourselves to others.
As I moved about my office, I removed things from the bulletin board, filled a small box with a toiletries bag I kept in the cabinet, some office supplies that I bought with my own money and some snacks from the desk. I left the candy jar I bought long ago hoping that it will still be enjoyed by those that remained, and continue to be a reason for people to stop by so connections could be made - connections that wouldn't have been made if it weren't for the candy jar. Everybody likes candy. Everybody needs connection to others. Candy creates connections.
After I was done, I found an envelope, took one last look around, turned off the lights and shut the door. I put my key in the lock and turned it. The familiar click sounded, securing all that was inside. I put the key in the envelope, slid it under the door and looked at it through the door window for a moment. Then walked away.
It was then that I figured out what a key weighs.
About 500 pounds, give or take.
500 pounds of stress and pressure and unhappiness and humiliation were gone. I was free of it. Those things weren't my problem anymore. I had made a tough decision and I was the better for it. Even if the unknown future was pretty scary, I knew that it had to be better than what I just walked away from. It made me feel stronger and lighter and clearer than I had for so long.
And I was proud of myself.
An unfamiliar feeling.
But I could get used to it.
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Wah!
Well, I spent the last two days working on a freelance project that I have. It just confirms that I enjoy this work and hope to parlay it into something sustainable for my life. I'm taking a class in early August to hone my skills and I'm excited about it! I miss school. Seems like such a stupid thing to say when I think about how stressful school was back when I was in high school and college. (Maybe it had something to do with all of those people dying though...)
I'm sitting here wondering if this class will lead to that job and then the next and the next and the next which will then lead to a life closer to what I want it to be. Can't get into all the details of what I want it to be just yet, but maybe someday.
Life's hard sometimes, ain't it?
I'm sitting here wondering if this class will lead to that job and then the next and the next and the next which will then lead to a life closer to what I want it to be. Can't get into all the details of what I want it to be just yet, but maybe someday.
Life's hard sometimes, ain't it?
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