Seasonal Blues

Spring has cropped up all over the place here.  Everything is budding and blooming.  But we're not quite there.  Nights still drop down into the 40's and 30's. Days shoot up towards the 70's.  In the mornings the heat kicks on and I bundle up in front of the fireplace.  The afternoons find me stripping down to summer clothes and turning on all the ceiling fans.  At night J comes home and complains that he is cold.  His half of the bed has an extra blanket on top of the comforter and sheets.  Me?  I fling everything off at night because I'm sweating.  The small fan turned to high on my nightstand does little to help.

I very much have a love/hate relationship with this season of renewal and rebirth.  My favorite time of year- winter- is on its way out.  Soon my dreaded enemy- summer- will be at my front door.  Spring for me is a reminder of all my worst flaws and bad habits.  I think I love winter so much because it's an acceptable excuse to be lazy and moody and a motionless sack.  In summer, everyone expects you to be tan and upbeat and energetic and at your best.  I never am.  So I love spring for all its beauty, but I shrink from what it foreshadows.

Spring does have its moments, like this afternoon.  After a few days of torrential rains, today is sunny and warm with bright blue skies.  Even though my first instinct is to always stay safely tucked away inside the house, I take a stroll in the neighborhood, then I make myself go out onto the deck with my current book.  I remind myself that the body needs sunlight.  The cats come out there with me, and I find a bit of joy watching them turn their faces up towards the sun, their eyes closed.  Their ears twitch at the sound of birds chirping. They are so content, so still.  Do their little brains run nonstop with thoughts, the way ours do?  They are indifferent, loafing, useless creatures, and they are okay with that because it's their purpose in life.  They know we will love them no matter what, and we don't expect anything from them.

I've talked about my garden before.  I love the flowers and I love to plant, but I hate all the maintenance.  Weeding, watering, feeding, trimming, mulching.  I know friends who are happy to work tirelessly out in their yards, who sit and dream about summer coming.  The idea of it just wears me out.  Heat, humidity, sweating.  One afternoon in my flower bed can sideline me for a week with aches and pains and exhaustion.  But I know I have to do it.  I'm sure J doesn't want to spend all his weekends taking care of the yard, we have almost two acres to tend.  But he mows, weeds, edges, fertilizes, aerates, and everything else- not because he loves it, but because he knows that's part of responsible home ownership.  And he does warn me every spring- stop planting more flowers and bulbs because I have trouble taking care of what I'm already growing.  I never listen.

Right now I am simply too sore to think about anything like that.  My arms are black and brown with bruises from all the needles and blood work and labs I've had lately.  My insides are in pain from all the probing and poking around.  Last night I could barely get off the couch because of cramps and a backache, after a very intense internal ultrasound.  I don't want to go into details, but ladies if you don't know what I'm talking about, then you've probably never had one.  I've had three- they are not fun.  I know these doctor-related aches are temporary, in a week the bruises will be fading to yellow, and what will my excuse be?  And I know what the results will be from all this medical detective work.  I am old, I am tired, I am out of shape, I am menopausal.  I don't exercise.  I eat things that come out of a cardboard box instead of directly out of the ground.  I drink too much caffeine, eat too much sugar.  I don't get enough sleep.  Blah blah blah.  The same things that plague half of the women in this country!  Yet they continue on with their lives, and I stumble.

Unlike the ever changing seasons, everything that is wrong with me is completely in my power to fix.  Having a doctor tell me that to my face, will that change things?  Will a medical diagnosis of "overweight middle-age female going through menopause" really empower me?  My doctor won't tell me anything I didn't already know before all of the lab work and probing.  And if I haven't changed by now, I don't know what it will take.

MISS GEE

RIGHT????

Perfect Timing

Last week I was in that zone where just the tiniest thing set me off.  I get like that sometimes, when too many little changes come at me all at once.  On their own, they are small insignificant pecks that irritate me, and I brush them aside.  But pouncing on me as a collective, it's like I was mugged by an entire street gang.  And I don't know enough kung fu to survive.

To add to that frustrating week, J had to have minor outpatient surgery- very very minor.  But it still entailed him in pain, discomfort, and being heavily medicated.  (Sounds like a regular day for me.)  My normally Alpha Male husband was transformed into a small pouting child who needed mommy.  Napping on the couch, wanting an extra blanket, needing a glass of water, calling out for a pudding cup. Yes, really.  Three trips to the pharmacy, two extra trips to the grocery store because he had special dietary needs for the first few days.  Mind you I did all of this with love and joy in my heart, because he does the same for me, and I'm still after all these years so enchanted with him.  But the reality is I get frazzled beyond repair.

That first evening, going through the normal bedtime routine of turning on the porch lights for the night, I looked out the side door panel of glass to see a package on the front step.  We are both always ordering things off eBay or Amazon, so I figured it was just another delivery.  Imagine my delight when I brought the box in and saw the sender's name.  A new dear friend, who had hinted at me the week before that I should watch for something from her in the mail.  It was late, J was already struggling to make it to the bedroom, so I put the box on the dining room table.  The next day, tired, cranky, but with the ailing husband back to work, I headed off to yoga to unwind.  For the first time in a long time, I was not able to clear my mind and totally relax.  When it was time for Shavasana, while Snatam Kaur crooned about the deep blue sea, and my instructor softly implored us to listen to our breathing and just let go with each exhale- I just stared up at the ceiling thinking about stuff, life, chores, marriage, work, the world.  I couldn't shake it off that day, and left as stressed as when I arrived.

But when I got home, there was the box on the table with my new friend's name on the mailing label.  Inside, handwritten notes from my friend on some of the items, and a warm card.  A very cute notepad, because she knows I am a compulsive maker of to-do lists.  A beautiful tea cup, relaxing tea, and a gorgeous tea towel.  What a wonderful gift because as many coffee mugs as I have, I only have one sad little tea cup, chipped, brought home from the desk at my old job. There was the sweet bookmark with the bird, which I adore because I am usually reading 3-4 books at a time.  A candle that I immediately put up on the fireplace mantel and lit.  And of course chocolate, which I opened right away because I really really needed it that day.  How did she know!

It was as though I had packed the box for me!  Amazing how someone I've never met could peg me so well, and each gift was as thoughtful and meaningful as if I had shopped for myself.

The most special gift was a slender book.  I opened it and as soon as I read the introduction, my eyes welled up with tears.  I knew this book needed my undivided attention.  I read every page that afternoon, incredulous that the author was speaking so directly to me and describing me, my life, my heart, with perfect detail.  I was even more astounded that this little book was written a decade before I was even born.  Then I read the book a second time, and I read it as though I had written it about myself.  It could be my diary.  Who knew that women, couples, families struggled with the same emotions and feelings in the 1950's as they do now.  The world really hasn't changed that much after all.  People haven't changed.

And so I want to thank this new friend for her kind gifts, which came at a time that I needed and could appreciate them the most.  She will laugh that two minds think alike, because I have a very small gift ready for her as well, I was just waiting until I finished my current letter to her so I could mail them all in the same package.  Nothing extravagant, but I hope she will enjoy everything nonetheless.

Thank you dear friend!!

MISS GEE

Finding Purpose

Today is one of those days.  Last night I went to bed vowing to wake up today feeling better, having more energy, zipping off to my 10am yoga class which I haven't been to in over a month.  But I woke up with my typical headache and backache, shuffled around the kitchen making coffee and J's breakfast, and slumped down at the table to read all the horrible shit in the newspaper.  Including the article about the police officer and father of four, gunned down by a drunk psycho yesterday just blocks away from J's office.  The day before at the intersection J drives through twice every day, that last turn at the corner of the street to his parking lot, a young woman was killed when another person slammed into her car- that person was speeding away in a stolen vehicle.  This world of ours.

I had a nice respite yesterday and I ended my day in a better mood.  It was in the 70's, I was able to open the windows and get fresh air and hear the birds.  I went to town in the afternoon for quick errands- dropping off a few Etsy sales at the post office, putting money in the bank (always a good thing), and perusing the aisles at the thrift store after I donated a big bag of clothes and shoes.  Sunny.  Good music on the radio.  I even came home and had a very productive evening, putting together several dozen necklaces for my booth, which is still technically a dream at this point.

This morning it's still warm out but pouring rain, the gray heavy stuff that puddles on the sidewalk and creates small lakes in the yard.  The temp will drop to 40 by lunchtime, and will be in the 20's tonight. Did I want to go to yoga that badly?  Nah.  I talked myself out of it before I even finished my first cup of coffee. Like it was an outdoor class, instead of in a clean cozy studio with warm cork floors.  Then as the minutes ticked by, I got angry at myself for not going, because it's the one thing that helps with the miserable body aches.  So I still continue to feel like crap, physically, which always leads to the mental side of it.  Getting in my head.  My body aches, and it won't be long before my brain does too.

That's my M.O.  Say I'm going to do something, promise myself I will do it, talk myself out of it with a lame excuse, then get righteously pissed off at myself for not doing it.  Over and over, every day.

At breakfast I crumbled a bit.  I try my best to never start J's day off with my whining, so I usually keep my stuff to myself.  We read the paper, talk about local news, talk about what he has coming up at work that day, talk about what we want to do this weekend.  But this morning I just grabbed my head wildly.  I said to him, I just need to shake this off!  He said, the blues?  (That's our genteel code word for my depression.)  It wasn't that, and I couldn't put it into words for a moment.  Then I said, I just need to FOCUS.  On something, anything.  His first answer was, of course, focus on my health but that's always his go-to topic for me.  Eat better.  Take my vitamins.  Exercise.  All are things I have a tendency to forget to do, or make really awful excuses as to why I didn't "have time" to do them.  But then I realized he is right.  There really are days when I am so beleaguered with what's inside of me, I do forget the simple tasks of taking pills.

I have too many of those days where, at 8am I open the dishwasher to unload the clean dishes from overnight.  At 3pm I walk back through the kitchen and the door is still open but only half the dishes were put away.  Does everyone have days like this?  Or is this my own personal brand of foolishness?  Am I really that lazy, or does my mind just simply drift off in the middle of such an uncomplicated undertaking?  What can I do to change this behavior?  I have to know.  Maybe it's the same phenomenon that took me from being that efficient 5am 5-minute shower person, to a midday 40-minute hot bath soaker.

I've written about it before, but when I worked I could multitask and complete major projects like nobody else- I even had 5 statues sitting on my desk for all the awards I'd won for my diligent work ethic.  I was single-minded, unstoppable, reliable.  Now that I'm at home, that has fallen apart.  It's like that fierce, smart, motivated part of my brain got left behind at the office.  Even though I have clearly defined goals for myself, I'm not working towards any of them at any steady pace.  Time slips through my fingers so easily now, hour by hour, and that's part of why I feel so useless.  What did I accomplish today?  Did I do anything worth mentioning? Why do I think I have to complete something monumental every day?  I'm alone at home, what exactly is there here that is so earth-shattering?  Hell, I can't even get the cats to stop peeing in the corner of our bedroom.

It's not enough to keep the kitchen and bathrooms clean.  It's not enough to pack my husband's lunch every morning.  It's not enough to take the recycling on Mondays, put out the garbage on Thursdays, do the dry cleaning on Fridays. It's not enough to pick up and drop off and clip coupons.  It's not enough to be a housewife anymore.  It's enough for J, he is pleased with those domestic changes in me.  And I'm not saying I want to jump out there into the working world again. Why can't I run a business from here?  Why can't I start a project here- and finish it?  Why can't I be useful again?  Why can't I ever do more than just talk about it!  I just want to find "that woman" I used to be, and put her to good use keeping up my new life at home.  I try to remind myself that as far as J and I are concerned, I am "retired".  Why do I think I have to do anything!

I've given serious thought to hiring a life coach, but that seems so Hollyweird for a plain and simple stay-at-home-person going through normal midlife pangs.  I don't need to save the world.  Just myself.

MISS GEE

Appointments

I have decided that I need some answers.  I can't believe that I'm meant to spend the rest of my life feeling unfocused, lethargic, callous.  I have a great life, and I'm tired of hating it.

I've scheduled an appointment with my primary care physician in a couple of weeks.  She's been my doctor for six years now, and she's seen my ups and downs.  All of the medications I'm on, she's the one who put me on them.  Most of all, she's easy to talk to and she listens.

I took down notes from my last few calendars, where I write pertinent info like weight, periods, sex.  All the things a menopausal woman would need to keep track of.  Looking back over the last three plus years, there were a few startling discoveries that I wasn't even aware of.  Living day to day, you don't notice some things happening- or not happening.  Having 38 months laid out in front of you, patterns emerge.

So it's time to see if my doctor is willing to do some poking around.  Blood, pee, saliva.  Whatever I need to hand over.  My notes, too, to see if she thinks my issues are due to hormones or any of my medications.

I feel as though my body is betraying me.  It's time to figure it out and make some changes.

MISS GEE

Sad And Tired

I am really in such a sad state of blah lately, and I am tired of feeling that way.  I'm tired that I can't seem to ever move forward in my life.  Even the blog, which I think about often but rarely get to.  I have such poison in my brain on most days, and I don't want to put it on the screen in front of me.  But it's still there, my eyeballs still see it inside my mind, whether or not I share it in black and white.

I feel like I have so many irons in the fire, I have so many directions that I need to go, so many projects to focus on, so many items on my to-do lists.  And yet they are all irrelevant in the real world.  Maybe they are only big deals in my little sphere of reality here inside the walls of this house.

I have no reason for complaints.  No reason for excuses.  I feel sorry for myself then get pissed off at myself for feeling that way.  No one treats me as badly as I do.  I have things in my life that I should celebrate- we just paid off our house!!- but joy always eludes me.  Then again, I don't expend much energy trying to chase after it either.

I see stories of overcoming the odds and courageousness every day, but I know I don't have that inside of me.  J enables my antipathy because he loves me. His "it's okay" hugs sometimes make me feel even worse. Like a repeatedly disappointed father showing encouragement to his failure of a child.

Lately I get so overwhelmed with the little things.  What I want to do, and what I actually do, are universes apart.  I can set goals for myself all day long, but as evening rolls around I wallow in the pitiful truth that I am incapable, a fraud.

One word to describe myself?  Useless.  To describe my life?  Pointless.  To describe the things I do?  Meaningless.

I know, I know.  Get my head out of my ass, get over all the drama, and get on with living.  What else is there to do?

MISS GEE