You may have noticed things have been a bit quiet around here for a while now. Ever since weaning Nemo back in February, I've slipped deeper and deeper into my own mental Pit of Despair, though I really didn't realize that the dark tendrils had been drilling their way inside my brain and heart until fairly recently, really only a month ago. Since then, I've been trying to make changes in my life to take care of myself, clear out the detritus, and let the damned nursing hormones out of my body (I'm still producing milk despite not having nursed anyone since February, much to my chagrin) and see where my new setpoint is. I've been nursing or pregnant for all but a handful of months of the last ten years. I have no idea who I am anymore.
Looking in the mirror each day and hating what you see staring back at you isn't a way to live a life. BigDaddyFish has been begging me to start up my exercise routine that was such a lifesaver last year, but I've been putting it off because Nemo, at 2.5, is into everything and needs constant vigilance, and frankly I have to pay a babysitter to be able to do it, and this economy and my old house haven't been kind to us financially (thank you, root canal, busted garbage disposal, rising gas prices and a 1.5 hour each way commute). The rain has been startling this year, where we are typically talking about drought we are talking about flash flood warnings instead. But things kind of reached a head this past weekend, and I hit rock bottom.
Today, I put on the Angry Music and walked. In the rain. I wasn't dressed properly for it, fancy bra instead of sports bra, jeans instead of yoga pants or sweats, no hat. Which may not seem like a big deal to you, unless you yourself sport 40DDs and wear glasses and have walked in the rain. My hair wasn't up. But I did it, for 2.5 miles, and would have kept going had I not had to go to the grocery store (my god, can't these people stop eating for a day or so? no? feh.) and then get home in time for dinner. And it felt good.
My muse is somewhere tangled up in those dark tentacles of misery, and I don't want this place to become the all despair, all the time channel. So I propose I start telling some of my stories. Family folklore from my childhood, from my grandparent's childhood. How my parents met. How I went through a previous time where the darkness threatened to overtake me and I almost died, and how my wonderful roommate fed me and kept me alive and salvation came in the form of a manboy who was Tom Cruise's doppelganger (before The Crazy, that is). And how that manboy is not my husband. And maybe some of the crazy shit I've done in my life. Because those things don't make me hurt right now. And just maybe walking those paths will bring me back to myself.