It’s one of those early summer days, just perfect for wasting. It’s a warm, clear, zero-percent-chance-of-rain day in Southern Oregon. It’s the kind of day that results in a greenway full of young lovers walking hand in hand, dog owners meandering back and forth disregarding the posted “Keep to the right” admonitions, and cyclists of all types rolling through. I should be among them. But I’m not.
Instead, I’m home…which I don’t mind…wandering listlessly around the house trying to find some project or task that can both absorb me, and for which I will have the staying power to complete. The Significant Other is off at his part-time job. (Yes! He finally got a steady part-time job!) All my kids are gone, for the moment. The youngest just headed off to her dad’s for Father’s Day weekend. The college student is away at college and won’t be coming home in between the end of her term and the beginning of her internship in Portland this summer. The recently graduated child is off being recently graduated, enjoying her friends and working. The son will return later, at which time, I’m hoping I have the energy to go for a bike ride. Until then, it is just me, here, alone. I love being alone. I love being in my home and alone. I almost never have a problem finding something to engage in. In fact, I am the one who is most likely to be voted “The Person Who Has Too Many Things She Wants To Do To Have To Work.” Today, something is definitely wrong. I find myself feeling almost…not quite, but almost…bored.
It isn’t that there aren’t plenty of projects to be done. There are. Even as I peck these words out on my laptop from the upper deck of my town home, I hear the S.O.’s voice in my head suggesting laundry as a top choice to become absorbed in. It is, in fact, overflowing, and it does, in fact, need to be folded and put away. Then, there is the garage, most of which, I’ve gone through, tossing decades worth of paperwork that no longer has any meaning in my life, but which I just never took the time to toss. I’ve worked the overwhelming pile down to a box and two 2-drawer file cabinets that I must go through and organize into a useful filing system. There are several bins of school paperwork that managed to just get tossed into bins over the course of the year rather than being filed in the appropriate binders. (I find there are binder people and there are file people. I am most definitely not a binder person. Give me a file and let me flip through it, please. Binders, for me, always end up in bins or buckets…or files. I’m far to busy to take the time to carefully open the rings, select the pages I want, get them copied, then return them. Forget that. I’m the type that grabs the file and plans on the go. When I’m done, it all goes back in the file ready to be pulled out again and used next year, this time with added notes and comments about what did not work. If I really had my way, I would have neither bins nor binders nor files…I’d have an iPad. It would save me so much time rummaging through the paper pile. It would save space: good-bye binders and files. It makes sense. It is also a pipe dream for me, right now, as I look at the fairly large amount of medical bills I have yet to pay, combined with the expenses associated with now having two children in college.) Organizing the garage and the remaining files would be a worthwhile project for an afternoon such as this. So would reading a book, going to get some tomato plants and beginning my veggie container garden, or going for a bike ride, or working on developing any one of my many blogs which I’ve neglected over the last couple of months.
There are any number of tasks that could absorb me. The problem comes when I begin to consider my energy level. There’s not a task here, including this blog post, which I think I’ll have energy to complete and I hate the idea of creating yet another unfinished project in my life. I hate unfinished projects. Just yesterday, my Mac crashed. It’s possibly a video card going bad. But it is something I now have to deal with, which I can’t because it will cost money, which I just don’t have. Another unfinished project. I hate this. I hate how life can sometimes be going along swimmingly, in fact, perfectly, if it weren’t for all the loose ends.
Yesterday, I had my three month follow-up appointment with my surgeon. I always enjoy meeting with this man because, besides being a personable sort, he has this way of rendering highly technical medical information into easy-to-understand packages for me. Yesterday, he took a bit of time discussing what I might expect in the months and years to come. He suggested that I’ll probably be feeling much better in the next couple of months as far as energy levels are concerned, but that I should expect it to take a year, maybe more, before I feel like this is finally behind me. In short, I need to give myself permission to feel tired and to rest when I just can’t go on.
I wonder…is today’s almost bored listlessness just another way the fatigue is manifesting itself?
I told you I wouldn’t have enough energy to even finish this post. I’m going to go take a nap.
How did it get so late so soon? It’s night before it’s afternoon. December is here before it’s June. My goodness how the time has flewn. How did it get so late so soon? ~Dr. Seuss
Where has the time gone? Only moments ago I was reflecting on the end of the year and the looking forward to the possibilities that reside in every new year. It is now mid-year. The days will soon begin getting shorter, the nights longer, and while summer begins, the year is steadily marching toward December. But wait, there’s more
How does one look back on a year such as mine? Three years ago, I ventured out into one of the scariest places I think I’ve ever been. Post divorce, 40-something, straddled with debt that wasn’t all mine, looking forward to fewer years to earn back the losses than I had behind me. While many would say I look good for my age, the fact that they had to add the phrase “for my age” said it all. I was divorced, single with more children than most, struggling to avoid bankruptcy, and wondering how I was going to pay the bills and put food on the table. I was frightened. I was destitute. I was humiliated and ashamed. I was alone. To make things better, I blew an engine on one car, and dropped the rear differential out of another. I had no credit, no cash, no clue what an engine or a rear differential was, and nowhere to turn. I was terrified. I wondered, often, how and if I was going to survive. But wait, there’s more
It’s a relationship that started out slowly, cautiously, but has really taken off. I think I’m in love. Not with just one guy, or even two, but three. It could even be four. I am getting to know the guys at my favorite bike shop on a first name basis. I’ve now met the owner, and two of the primary bike mechanics. In my New Biker Chick World, these are definitely the people to know. After all, I’m riding some fairly long distances, sometimes alone, and the idea of having some sort of avoidable mishap 20 miles away from home where I have to hike back with my wheels slung over my shoulder simply doesn’t appeal to me. Knowledge is power and these men have what I need.
I used to take it black; pure, untainted, full strength, undiluted. I began this habit back in college; back in those days of choosing and learning to choose. Back then I chose my daily schedule, I chose my purchases, I chose my food, my friends, my fun. Like my coffee, I chose life pure, untainted, full strength, undiluted. But wait, there’s more
It goes way back. Funny how that is, isn’t it? The stories we begin in the present often have their origins in the past. For me, this story begins way back, as a teenager, still living at home. I can still hear my mother saying the words that she said all during my high school years. Her mantra was, “You need to develop your own interests. You need to decide what you like. Stop creating your interests based upon the person you are dating at the time. Figure out what it is you like and what you are about first.”
Well, we all know how well teenage daughters listen to their mothers. I was no different. I figured I had a better read on the world than my mother did. As a young, optimistic, overly confident and naive individual, I figured I could do better than she had. Why listen to my parents? But wait, there’s more