The thing about blogging on any consistent basis – is you end up with something akin to a journal that anyone can read.
Good days and bad – you’re basically reading my diary.
That’s fine by me – but I find it a little eye-roll worthy sometimes when I’ve had a bad day, to read a previous very upbeat post.
If you find your eyes rolling with mine, just know that at that moment, when I’m typing, every fiber of who I am and what I feel and know to be true is being transcribed upon the screen through my fingers.
No one can be completely happy and upbeat ALL the time. “Even the best of souls” which, is what I heard last night when I stumbled upon ‘Lark Rise to Candleford’. I’ve only seen one episode, so to any devout fans reading this, my apologies.
Dawn French’s character, Caroline Arless, had returned from a stay somewhere, with new resolve. She was going to watch her mouth, keep her skirts down (that cracked me up) be grateful and humble. I saw myself in her immediately. And my lips twitched into a smile watching her exuberance for her metamorphosis.
As she was telling this to a woman who, it seemed had mastered those skills to some degree, the woman remarked (and I’m paraphrasing) that was a tall order ‘even for the best of souls’.
I thought of my day – I thought of my last post … the juxtaposition of the two not lost on me – and then, I thought of clowns.
Yesterday: I am sick again. And for someone who never gets sick, this is getting annoying. This is twice now in 3 months.
I woke up, watched a couple of movies in my bedroom and did something else I never do. Went back to sleep.
I crawled out of my infirmary after 2 in the afternoon. I had cleaning to do that night at the offices.
I really almost put it off until today – but needed to go into that neck of the woods anyway – and you know, two birds, one stone.
So I’m cleaning, and feeling rotten – and I’ve said some unkind things to Nic in the car on the way over.
Things that needed to be said, but did not meet the rule of three that I try to live by.
It goes a little something like this – Before you speak, ask yourself:
1. Is it kind?
2. Is it useful?
3. Is it true?
It was useful and true, but not kind. And in my depleted state, I had no right venturing into conversations that required a positive attitude.
I poured my last energy into cleaning, while my head wouldn’t shut up about the things I’d said to Nic. You know, I don’t know if it’s a bad thing that I realize I’m doing something wrong and still do it? Or if it’s a good thing as I’m clearly growing and learning?
Then my mop broke.
(Insert Metaphors here)
Rust particles spilled onto the freshly vacuumed floor and tile.
I did the best I could with a smaller, less absorbent mop. Then, having decided I was as done as I could be, I excited the building.
It was then I noticed I had lost my car key. I stomped back into the offices, accidentally set the building alarm off, then proceeded to stand in a door jamb crying my eyes out.
Nic came to me as I stood there, arms up, head buried, I could have been counting for ‘hide and go seek’.
I broke. “I am tired! I can’t do this! The floors look horrible and I need help! I don’t feel well!” This was not about the floors. Not just about the floors. And we both knew it.
Still, I knew I couldn’t leave without being satisfied with my work – but I only had so much to work with.
I tried again, with a new floor cleaning device, making the best of what I had, into something I was willing to leave for the night.
I had promised Chinese food. Of course, thanks to my mouth, I had knocked any hunger Nic might have had for it right out of him.
He was still hungry, but his feelings weren’t in the mood for food.
We got it anyway and I tried to mend the wounds.
There’s still a heaviness in the air today – residue from yesterday.
Once again, I almost put off my chores in favor of staying in bed. But I got up, and went to the laundromat.
This is when I thought of clowns.
I’ve never liked them. For two reasons I think, one being the mask factor. Hiding behind a facade … The other the impossible constant smile.
I’m funny and mostly happy, but I am not a clown.
No one can smile all the time – and no matter how often I remember that, I can’t seem to cut myself a break when I don’t feel like smiling.
A friend asked me what was going on and how was I feeling this morning – he said “Your blog post was a big downer …”
My first reaction to that was that today’s post needed to be a super upbeat, a “I’m SO grateful, joyous” positive post to make up for yesterdays sad one.
But I am not going to do that.
I get tired of apologizing for being human.
I have said before and I’ll say it again, I really don’t tend to edit myself. Ask me a question, I’ll answer it. You know where you stand with me.
This bleeds over to my blog. I keep identities secret, but not my feelings. And I’m not about to start now.
I received an instant message from a dear friend of mine last night after I published Dirt and destiny, and we typed back and forth and I sat there, on my porch, and I cried.
It felt SO good and was just what I needed.
Not maudlin, not sobbing, not gut wrenching ‘why me’ – ‘poor me’ crying … just, cleansing tears.
Acknowledging that I was sad and scared and unsure. Letting a long week out onto my cheeks.
She said just the right things. Things I needed to hear. That it was okay to want things for myself sometimes too. To consider myself. That I deserve to be happy.
I fight this.
I find myself constantly trying to make amends for my past by not allowing the notion that I could deserve to be happy to blossom.
I should clarify – I AM ‘happy’ … we are speaking of ‘happy-ever-after’ happy.
Once you have come to the above conclusion – once you have found what and who you want, you recognize that there are only so many tomorrows. And maybe there isn’t even another ‘tomorrow’.
I’ve also been taught that if there is nothing you can do – do the next right thing. So, I’ve been to the laundromat, washed the dog – and after this post I’ll clean and find time to rest.
I’ll read one of the books I’m currently reading and breath.
I tend to succeed in pushing through tough times. And when I’m uncertain or worried, I find the light and grow through it.
I also have to remember, that my imagination amplifies every situation. I have to decide how to feel. And in the end, I always choose happy.
My usual ‘Musings from the Laundromat’ will be written from home, as they’re not open yet.
I’ve been up since just before 5 O’Clock thanks to Butters, my restless bedroom companion. 3 times last night she wanted to go outside … just to bark at something and hang out on the porch. And that was a good night.
So here I am, sleepy, but happy and trying to find the words to describe the past week. I’m not sure I can.
‘Awake’ is a good start.
Haven’t been sleeping much … but the way I see it, if I’m blessed to be very old one day, I’ll look back and smile at experiences, not the time I spent asleep.
Besides, my mind is wide awake. As is my heart is and my soul.
A series of connections and coincidences keep occurring.
It is as if all the intangibles that have made me who I am, ancestry, music, beliefs, memories, words I’ve read, places I’ve been – have found their counterpoint.
I’ve always liked to think that when I experience Déjà vu it is a sign that I am right where I am meant to be. But I have not experienced anything like this past week before.
No sense that something has happened before, only that it was meant to.