For Mother's Day, my husband gave me a beautiful card. He signed it and noted that I constantly amaze him. It was a lovely boost. Possibly one that I sorely needed. I felt touched by his sentiment but also out of touch because I wished I felt the same way about myself.
Just like any other carbon-based life form with too much thinking time, I go through moments where I feel unimpressed with myself. It isn't a self-flagellation situation. It is more of a "meh about me" scenario. I don't feel amazing. I don't look amazing. I don't project any main-character energy and I don't even want to. I don't loathe myself or use negative speak to shame myself into productivity. I am just...bleh. I'm here. I am probably wearing 18% grey. I am exactly halfway between comfortable and uncomfortable.
I don't believe these times to be depressive phases because they are entirely neutral. I believe that they are the holding patterns of life. They are times when I inadvertently take a pause from the go-go-go energy and just drift while my brain does some restorative work. I imagine my latest plateau has more to do with the horribly organic nature of my physical body and its unwillingness to endure continued battering without a break. My this hurts. My that has pain. My other thing is creaky. Secret, silent signals punctuate my body in a distressingly bizarre Morse Code to tell me my ship is sinking.
It isn't all medical malady that jettisons my aspirations temporarily. Technology can often be a foe when I am trying to stay on track with my calendar. My frustration wells when I see errors on the blue-light screen, telling me I have to wait at least fifteen days for a resolution or that my file has an issue though it certainly does not.
Patience is not a virtue that I embrace but the Universe keeps trying to get me to hug it out. It insists on teaching me this in an unending parade of maddening mishaps. I have many days where my mind and body can't synchronize to a harmonious speed of 120 miles per hour. They are thwarted by the uncanny timing of everything and everyone around me. Run to Kroger to pick up some groceries? Ok, but you will haltingly move through the parking lot to a spot as NPCs step into your path with the kind of timing reserved for The Truman Show. Need to finalize that thing at work? Ok, but you will wait a week or so for the response you need to proceed because someone is out of the office and they don't have a backup. Need to get to the next item on your to-do list? Ok, but re-do these three other things because the person on the other end of that task isn't paying attention.
This has been going on for weeks.
I finally had a screaming match with the Universe just the other day and told it to fuck right off.
I was a tad harsh.
Well, maybe more than harsh. I belittled it and told it to leave me the fuck alone.
Maybe it is all the grey skies and rain. Maybe it is menopause. Maybe it's Maybelline.
I know I will crawl out of these doldrums soon, I just can't discern exactly when. I can tell you that it will be amazing when I do.
So maybe my husband isn't wrong after all.
Don't tell him I said that.
