I’ll confess. I’m struggling a bit.
It’s not dire. I’m not in the depths of despair. I doubt anyone who meets me on a daily basis would even know that I’m different from “normal.”
But I am. I’m more “tired.” I don’t feel like running, even though I enjoy it when I go.
Work is OK, but best when things are really busy. When it isn’t really busy, I stare off into space for longer than I mean to.
Our manic schedule is both a help and a hindrance. I go so so much and then when I stop, I really stop.
I think what I’m truly suffering from is inertia. Or lack there of, really. Once I get going, I go, almost manically. But when I stop, it’s really hard to get me going again.
Last weekend we cleaned out Mom’s closet. The closet she shares with Dad to be exact. I won’t pretend I enjoyed it, but there were funny silly moments here and there. Like when we found an entire gallon-sized ziploc bag of freebie toothbrushes from the dentist. Mom had a sonic toothbrush and never would have used these, but there they were in her bathroom (we cleaned that too). Of course we cried off and on.
I cried when I pulled out the dress she wore to the last company Christmas party. I have awesome photos of her dancing in it with our coworkers, the ones she loved so much. We cried when we saw the last few clothes she bought, never knowing she wouldn’t even get to take the tags off some of them.
I inherited some kickass red platform peep-toe suede pumps. I love and hate wearing them all at the same time.
We didn’t even touch her jewelry or bags or scarves. I look forward to going through those even less. They’re so essentially Mom.
I’m trying not to struggle. Trying to beat this funk I’m in. Some days I do better than others.