I am, at heart, a completist. That is to say, conceptually. Practically, I never have anything finished no matter how much it negatively impacts my mental health. And, right now, having nothing finished is making me pretty negative.
One day I’m too tired to get out of the bed, the next I’m freaking out because I’ve been too tired to get out of the bed. Is there nothing in between? I need to do laundry, I need to clean bathrooms, I need to vacuum, I need to shower, I need to clear a path in Lucy’s room. I’ve lost the dining room table, every other flat surface in the living room, and part of the coffee table. None of it is that big, actually, but the whole picture is totally overwhelming.
I fail at housekeeping no matter how hard I try, and I’m tired of living in a pile of toys and clothes and cat hair. As I look around the living room, I see:
one heart slipper, one puzzle book, one straw hat, one pizza set, an undershirt, a small stuffed Boots the monkey, an assortment of plastic tools, nesting dolls of varying sizes. The dining room table is completely covered with my erstwhile centerpiece, C’s school crap, a baggie of magnets from Dinosaur Bingo, a kaleidescope, a magic wand (which is unfortunately nonfunctional.) I don’t even know what else is over there, honestly, and it hardly matters how much crap is strewn around the main areas here. The issue is that nothing is ever done.
I have been cranky for the past month straight. Maybe a little longer, but definitely since we got back from Florida. I haven’t wanted to do much of anything, which is part of why I’ve been so steadily absent from blogging. I’d love to say that in the time I’ve spent away from blogging I’ve been incredibly productive, but I decidedly have not. I’ve been distant, had emotional flare-ups, slept far more than any human really needs to, and generally not had very much fun with the day to day. Thing is, I know it’s not the cleaning, or probably even the never getting anything finished. I just don’t know what it is. In some ways I feel like, other than the housework, I’m doing things really right. The quitting smoking, the healthier eating, even being able to finish an essay in fewer drafts. At the same time, though, I feel lost and I’m being really hard on myself and everyone around me, which I hate but almost don’t realize I’m doing until it’s done.
I don’t know. I just don’t want to write anything today, I don’t want to go to workshop, I don’t want to have to talk to anyone because I can’t gauge how I sound lately and I’m really ready for this mood crap to be over.