The first pot of fall soup is simmering on the stove. The windows of the kitchen are open, airing out the smells of cooking into the neighbor’s yard. A bouquet of kale casually awaits it’s watery death next to the pot.
I am suddenly very hungry.
This weekend I hit the wall. Not literally – I would be very angry with myself if I had to patch up a hole in the plaster. Emotionally. Something stirred loose and I felt it. I desperately needed a place to hide.
I worry that the meds are going to stop working again. I am keenly aware of my brain chemistry these days.
I took today off to attend to personal business. It felt nice to be cooking before 5 p.m., even though we won’t eat so early. I like having a few hours left where I am able to still think clearly, before the muddy slosh of after-work washes over me and all I want to do is watch television. I almost feel like there is enough juice left in me to be creative, like I haven’t been squeezed dry yet.
I don’t know if you noticed but a whole week went by without a post. After my streak of regularity I felt sort of empty for not having written anything. It was a busy week.
Or was it? I don’t remember so many things happening, but somehow all of the hours got filled and none were left for this.
I promised my aunt and uncle a blog about a baby bird I tried to save. I haven’t forgotten.
I wonder if my husband would feel like a widower if I stayed up here in this room, night after night, until I had worked out whatever creative thing is lying just under my surface. I wonder what he would eat.
That’s an exaggeration – Husband does fine without me. But it’s difficult to know how a significant other might react to not being chosen as the center of your attention for long stretches of time. I just wonder.
For now I am sitting in the attic on a steel chair that is much too short for the desk we purchased for my writing space. The desk, consequently, is perfectly sized, yet the room still feels naked.
I’m not sure what it needs to feel less sparse. It’s a work in progress. Like so many important things in my life.
That’s a whole other tangent. I don’t feel like being so tangential this evening.
I feel like making pie. I won’t though, because the sunlight has slipped behind the horizon and soon I will be curling up on the couch with my little family and forgetting about the kitchen. Then I’ll get ready for bed and tomorrow will be another work day.
I’ll throw myself back into the week and try to ignore the very faint hum of anxiety buzzing in my chest for no reason that I can place. I will breathe in three times, and out three times, over and over until I feel better. I’ll drink tea and not dwell on things.
I’ll have a delicious hot soup for lunch.