Cleaning House

So. If I had written this post yesterday, it would have explained quite desperately and probably melodramatically that my life was falling apart and I just couldn’t take it anymore. What precipitated this event is difficult to pinpoint, but if you have read this blog before you probably could make up a theory of your own and come out just about correct. The realization that the last time I remember being really happy and at peace was early in 2006 was not a welcome one. Having barely slept in the past week due to that stupid cold/busted shoulder/pregnancy effect may have had an equal impact. Sliding my car into a coworkers as I arrived late for a meeting and then getting the call that some trellises, which I had made myself and were installed on either side of our front porch, had been stolen were ostensibly the reasons I was crying my eyes out at my desk. In our open office. Priceless.

But I am blessed with some truly excellent friends who sat with me and sorted it out and asked me all the suicide-risk questions (which I passed, btw) so that plus getting to snuggle with Mr. K and finally sleeping through the night for once have changed my perspective on things. This is what I know today:

– Okay, so I don’t enjoy life. This seems like a ‘well, duh’ sort of statement. Many people don’t enjoy life. It is not a unique or special situation. It just sort of sucks. I do not know a miracle cure for this condition. There are moments I enjoy, of course, and BabyK seems to promise more of these better times to come, despite the dire warnings and threatening advice that being pregnant must absolutely require from those around me. I do not consider myself depressed or suicidal. I can not seem to stop myself from continuing to muddle through. As one of my friends said yesterday, timing is everything, and sometimes everything sucks. In the past two years there is not an aspect of my life that has not been damaged, traumatized or otherwise shit upon. I probably just need some more time to recover from that, as lame and disappointing as that might sound.

– I can’t deal with stress. Again, duh. But this was presented to me in a different way yesterday – “You don’t really deal with stress. You just accept it. And that makes things very heavy for you. It also makes you tough, but it doesn’t seem like tough is working out so well anymore.” I am still chewing this over but it does make a lot of sense to me. How do you let go of the stress so things are light again? I think if anything were to be light and easy it would float just beyond my grasp, never to be recaptured. The alternative (which is lately quite attractive) is to just drop all that heavy crap and listen to the big crashing booms that result. Which is fun, but no one wants to clean up that mess. I am not at the point where I can flip the bird to everything and everyone and to hell with the consequences.

– I have a totally excellent marriage. Many marriages could not handle what ours has been through. Maybe this is my good karma.

– As expected, BabyK is complicating life tremendously. And the hormones are probably pushing me over the edge here, but I have a new theory about why this is so. I think it’s like cleaning out a closet – when you first start to clean the closet, you are pulling all of the crap out and spreading it all over the floor. What was once contained in the closet, where you could shut the door and ignore it, is now strewn across the room, cluttering up everything, being overwhelming and uncontrolled. If the phone rings at this point you may be so overwhelmed by the crap that you have a sudden urge to vacate the vicinity and see a movie instead. But if you stick with it, and you sort through the crap, then slowly but surely things start to make sense again. There’s an order and a purpose to those piles. And you start to put things where they belong and all of a sudden you can see the floor again. There’s your neat, organized, closet, all ready to store things in an orderly and pleasing way.

So maybe all this falling apart is really the beginning of cleaning up. Maybe I have to sort through all this shit to make room for BabyK and the new life that is bearing down upon us so urgently. And maybe I will be a little indulgent and say that this process is made even more unpleasant by the part where the universe shoved a rabid, incontinent feral cat into my closet and most of my crap bears the hallmarks of that experience. I don’t know that breaking down all the way is the answer, but maybe staying committed to cleaning out the closet might help. I might try giving myself some time and space to deal with that giant pile of crap (while keeping all those balls in the air and not letting anyone down of course… wait, what was I going to do?) I might try to convince Mr. K that certain financial ruin is not the inevitable outcome of taking a vacation, all by ourselves, with nothing to do but lay on the beach.

So if you encounter me and it seems like I have been possessed by a rabid, incontinent, feral cat… I kind of have been.



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