It’s one of those days when my anxiety is high. Everything annoys me and all I want is to lay in bed, in the dark, where it’s quiet and cool. I cringed through so many uncomfortably pointless conversations and was thankful that a supervisor that dislikes me has been promoted and will soon be leaving the store I work in. I haven’t shared this thought of mine with anyone, she’s extremely liked by everyone. Everyone but me. I had the misfortune of seeing the crazy side of her once and it was immediately apparent to me that her individual type of crazy absolutely did not mesh well with mine. I imagine she devours innocent kittens as snacks and then smears herself in honey or something equally unappealing while watching surgery shows on the discovery channel, practicing later on frogs she’s caught in swamps or whatever type of nature she likes to prowl in. Horribly mean of me, I know, but ask me if I care.
After a lovely Mother’s Day, my house is a mess, mostly because of the puppy, and I am exhausted. My body and soul yearns to lay in bed and read and then pull out my journal and write words that I don’t ever intend to share. But what’s the purpose of words if not to share them? I’ll probably sit on the couch and mope until it’s time to make dinner. Can’t very well be productive when the Mister isn’t home, the rambunctious, if not somewhat temperamental puppy won’t allow it. When she gets like this I get started down that path where I start to think that I am an inadequate mother who cannot even get a puppy to listen to her and that I have no business raising human children. My thoughts escalate quickly.
I’ve tried to absorb myself in made-up words and it helps for a little while, but not nearly long enough before I am dragged back into the pits of reality. I keep searching for something real and wish that things would just fall into place. Quite selfish of me, I know. I’m old enough to understand that wonderful things only come to those who work hard for it but maybe I’m jaded when I think of all of the years I worked hard and things only seemed to get worse and worse.
I have dreams just like everyone else but until I’m able to work seriously towards achieving these I’m just another person taking up space. I eat and drink the same things every day, I say the same words over and over, I think the same thoughts and feel the same feelings, all the while telling myself that there has to be more to this life and that one day, not now but one day, I’ll reach out and grasp it all in my closed fists the way I always used to wish I could capture the stars in the sky and place them in a glass jar, like fireflies. Until then, all I really have the energy to do is exist.