Here’s the thing.
The thing is that I may or may not (absolutely do) have, albeit un-diagnosed, mental health issues that have been amplified to an unflattering extent, on account of a mountain of stress at work, a recent and very heartbreaking break-up, a relapse into financial ruin, and children who keep trying to kill me in my sleep. And sometimes even when I’m awake.
When they think I’m not looking.
Or don’t care that I am.
Awake.
And looking.
The thing is that I keep beating myself up for being sad because I’m so very blessed to be surrounded by such amazingly supportive, inspiring, and loving people.
And I’m so freaking lucky and oh so very excited about all the great projects and voyages I am about to embark on that it seems ridiculous to be simultaneously all that and devastated.
Honestly, I’m embarrassed and I feel spoiled and selfish for flitting back and forth from elation to frantically treading metaphoric water.
Or frantically metaphorically treading water…
no. that sounds even worse.
Whatever.
That’s the thing.
Well one of the things anyway.
But that’s okay!
And not just because my therapist says it is, which she does, in fact she told me it wouldn’t be normal if I wasn’t feeling mentally challenged deranged obsessed a little blue these days.
But not just because of that.
Because I’m being proactive.
I really am.
I’m kicking my own ass into gear.
And not only by forcing myself to go for that 40 minute run this morning, followed by 30 minutes of yoga.
Although that was a cruel and unusual punishment of sorts, which I have yet to receive a medal for *ahem* facebook.
I’m putting myself through a physical, mental, AND environmental boot camp.
I have been organizing and purging and trashing all kinds of things from my house.
I’ve been eating super mega extra healthy.
Well, healthy plus wine.
And Coffee
And chocolate…
Is there a word for that?
like how vegetarians who eat eggs and dairy are called “ovo-lacto vegetarians”.
And the ones who eat fish are called (I think) “pescetarians”.
What’s somebody who lives on sprouts, smoothies, flax seed, wine, coffee and chocolate called? Besides “Awesome”.
I want a cool name!
Please!
a chocowinocafhealthfreak?
I need suggestions. Help me.
The reader with the best suggestion wins 6 vegan coffee chocolate wine cupcakes.
uuuuuuuuuuuuummmmmmm….
Oh yeah.
I was full of focus and determination this week, despite the constant interception by calls, texts, gossip, and stumbling upon bits of tear-jerking nostalgia and memorabilia.
I cleaned my fridge and my pantry to invite flow and order and santé.
I mopped the floors and washed all the linens for…
I don’t know what symbolic reason but mostly because the the floor was dirty and the cats are shedding so much, they’re basically multiplying.
Yesterday, I was knee deep in bills, work files, old love letters, unread “urgent!” emails, show flyers, and sushi menus, all of which felt like a mounting pile of evidence confirming what?
I don’t know but it triggered a negative loop of self pity/loathing.
But out of nowhere, I had this sudden manic attack. Yes MANIC.
I started printing, cutting and taping emails and posters and pictures on my dining room wall.
I slapped post-it notes on each one, indicating locations, deadlines and show dates.
NEW YORK! JAPAN! KENYA!
I wrote on pink squares of paper THIS IS MY TIME
or maybe IT. I may have written IT IS MY TIME. That would be kind of lame.
I should change that. I should definitely change it to This,
THIS IS MY TIME
I was snipping and printing and taping like a wild woman.
*insert visual of me doing an Edward Scissorhands impersonation. Only with tape. And post-its.
And it felt good.
And when I was done, I took a step back and admired the wall with pride.
See? You’re worthy. You’re not a loser.
I told myself.
Although, you might be a middle-aged, vision boarding mom…
Or a serial killer…
Then I felt weird.
And creepy.
As I thought back to every movie I’ve watched where the terrorist/serial rapist/stalker/murder has one of these vision walls.
And I was just about to take it all down.
But then I started thinking about how I was going to go for a run the next morning and I got too tired.
So instead, I showered, I threw the iChing and poured myself a glass of wine grabbed a bar of chocolate out of the fridge and watched a PBS special about Marilyn Monroe.
Did I mention that I went for a 40 minute run followed by 30 minutes of yoga this morning?