31 March 2014
I woke up early this morning to find snow on the overhead skylight. Depression doesn't even begin to describe the disheartening feeling I’m experiencing on this, the final day of March. I am struggling to keep afloat here and inexorably, guilt is starting to reenter my psyche. I feel guilty because I am not getting enough done towards my writing goals. Since I am not getting enough done there is a cloud of concern about my need to find something better and more productive to do. I need to be bringing in an income to contribute to this household. Bob carries all of the weight paying our recurrent bills. I am the hausfrau, stirring the pot and hanging the laundry on the line, clucking over dirt on the floor, and what I should cook for dinner. These things fritter and waste my precious time. Wasn't it just a week ago I was whining about how pain was standing between me and my life, my dreams?
Right now, as a new coating of white covers the deck and yard, as I don several layers of clothing to escort Charlotte up and down the icy deck stairs, my thoughts are dark. I long fervently for warmth and sun. I feel pent up and clogged with the stuffiness of the household air. I endured a mild headache most of the day yesterday, a headache of mysterious origin since allergies don’t seem to be a cause with this still-frozen weather, I enjoyed at least seven hours of uninterrupted sleep the night before, and not a whit of liquor passed my lips in the previous 48 hours. Bob thought it was the claustrophobic air trapped in the house for these prolonged and oppressive winter months. I agree with him and add a melancholic note: When you feel drab, when the world is drab – grey and damp and enclosed, the world can push in on you and corral your thoughts and feelings and sense of well-being. I am not much better today. The headache is gone, thank goodness. I got up this morning and rustled about, exercising vigorously after completing my now-elaborate pet care routine. Looking out the window and re-experiencing the pall of winter gloom isn't helping.
And so I create a list to propel myself forward. I set goals, small ones and large. I take steps to get out of these doldrums, this malaise. Even if my inclination is to crawl back under the covers and close myself off from the howl of wind around the eaves, if I plod along, ticking off one small task after another there might be progress. There will be progress. Someday spring will arrive and with it a renewed sense of optimism. Isn't this how we usually roll?
I went outside a few days ago and marveled over the patch of daffodils under my dryer vent. Their deep green blades were pushing through the thick crust of ice still covering the small planting bed on the protected side of my house. I grabbed my camera to record this small burst of hope. They aren't flowering yet and endure another layer of frozen snow as I write this. Surely they will win out over this cruel weather, and so must I.