a photo taken at Table Rock when Jason and I went hiking a couple of weeks ago. I'm not feeling very talkative lately; make of that what you will. Don't mistake it for inactivity, though; Jason's current status of job-seeking means that my time when I'm not working is often pretty well scheduled to keep us on the move, because he spends all day in the house and I know from my foray in joblessness last year while planning our move from Illinois to SC that sitting around the house gets pretty darn boring. Jason is much better at activities than I am.
This is good, in that it's meant a lot of friend-time and family-time, both of which I need and thoroughly enjoy. It also means that I'm doing a lot of things and am not exactly relaxed enough to blog about any of them terribly often.
I don't know. I've been pretty stressed out lately, which is always something that ends with me fairly scatterbrained. I was able to take a good long walk this morning, just me and my ipod, and get some thinking time in. I don't know that anything came of it, but any time I spend just kind of grooving to music I consider to be time to get my brain back in order, at least a little bit.
A coworker and I were discussing the idea of writing a tell-all memoir about working as baristas in a bookstore coffee-shop. We threw around the idea of titles like But This Is Exactly What You Ordered, Sir or Dispatches from the Espresso Machine. Or No, Ma'am, I Cannot Give You 20% Off Because You're Just So Nice.
Well, Jason has a lead on a job, so I'm pretty hopeful today. He is off taking care of that sort of thing, while the cat and I have staring contests and I try to talk myself into doing anything but playing the "oh I'm not at work I'm going to allow myself to rest" game, which is nice but doesn't actually accomplish anything.
Then again, relaxation in and of itself can be an accomplishment. I think I'm letting stress get to me again, which is never fun for anybody.
I'm stuck in a cycle of art block. I don't have inspiration, and hardly ever have the energy, to try and create anything. It never did just come on command; that's not how inspiration works... or at least it never has with me. It's part of the stress, too; the more I worry (about money, about our five-year plan, about my eroding list of things I had hoped to get done before I was 30, the next six months, the next ten years... it goes on like that), the more I stress out, the less likely it is to ever come back. It's easy to say "Well, just worry less," but it certainly is not nearly so easy to carry out that advice. I know I need to worry less, but that's not actually how worry works; I don't call that into being any more than I can simply pull inspiration out of thin air.
On the other hand, I got home from work last night and settled in to reading and watching some Netflix off and on, and when Jason got home from a meeting he was at we spent our whole night laughing like little kids at each other, which was fantastic. And evenings like that are always fantastic. I was essentially not anxious for a good few hours in a row.
I need to figure out how to let myself breathe, and not spend time trying to figure out which thing is going to go wrong next, how we're going to juggle adult life long enough to make it to what I can only hope is the next lucky break (we're due to get one eventually, right?)... you would be surprised the kinds of things my brain will come up with when it comes to finding stuff to worry about.
I can't just will myself cheerful. That's never been a talent of mine.
I can't just shrug it off. So I suppose I need to draw on the strength I know I've picked up from all the women who have been in my life, stand up a little taller, and hack my way through it 'til I get there.
I just kinda liked the mental image of myself taking a figurative machete to anxiety-trees. I mean, come on, picture me trying to hack my way through ANY kind of vegetation without somehow injuring myself. Even if it is metaphorical vegetation.
I don't want it to be assumed that I'm unhappy. About 80% of my life is pretty awesome. I'm happy with my husband, with my friends, with my family.
I am just an anxious little person, and late spring and summer this year have not been the uneventual type of seasons that allow me to put that anxiety somewhere else for a while.
I need to stop looking at all of this jumping from hope to hope as something wearying, and start looking at it the way little kids look at jumping from rock to rock across a creek without trying to touch the water. Sure, you don't want your feet to get wet and there's a constant chance that you'll fall in, but there's a reason little kids do that as a game.
That ended up a lot longer than I meant it to be.
But I suppose if I'm only going to update every 8 to 10 days or so, I might as well let myself ramble a bit, huh?
Besides, I wouldn't be me if I couldn't turn a "Well, I should post up a picture or something and show people I'm still around" update into three pages of where my brain is at right now.
I'm going to go watch Anthony Bourdain on Netflix now.
And snuggle my cat.
And it's going to be awesome.