I have one of those minds, call it obsessive, that latches onto things and can’t seem to let go unless or until a plausible explanation is rendered.
The mystery of the missing bath salts. Did someone throw them out? Why would they? Why would they not be in the same place they have been for the last 5 months?
The mystery of the missing brown blanket. Did someone throw it out? Give it away? Take it? Where on earth is it? It’s not like a big fluffy blanket just walks away on its own.
Granted, I am one to be over zealous when it comes to giving things away. I’m currently in the midst of a mass expunge in which I am relieving myself of the burden of ownership of much of my earthly possessions. So of course it’s not a problem that even more things are not here, but it just bothers me that I don’t know what happened to these particular things. It’s the lack of explanation that gets me stuck.
Stuck. I do feel stuck, in many ways. Or perhaps the word is trapped. Trapped in my mind, trapped in my body, trapped in my office, trapped in my life. Where would I go and what would I do? Obviously it’s mainly my mind that governs the overall trappedness of things. My work day is over. A bona fide 8 hours plus have been devoted to my employer. Yet my computer is still online, and I glance at it every few minutes to see if more email or work items have come through. I should just shut the thing off and not think of it again until the next day begins. But I don’t.
There is time now, before the evening tasks commence, in which I could be doing things for myself like exercising, planning healthy meals, reading a book, going for a walk, doing errands. Instead, I’m compelled to sit at this computer and write about how I can’t make myself do any of those things.
I think the word for it is probably depression, but all right already, it just seems like I should be able to rationalize things. Figure things out. So I can get on with things.
But I can’t. Because I’m stuck.
Sometimes I feel this way all day, and then when evening falls I’m hit with a wave of relief, as though nightfall justifies the need to remain indoors. It’s crazy, because I like the outdoors.
Part of me wants incentive. I’d love it if Gadget were interested in fitness and health, but if activities don’t involve boats, motorcycles, RVs, ATVs, or other such motorized things, guns, or gear, then it’s not likely that he’ll be interested. Look at me! I’ve just skillfully blamed him for my predicament. I’m good that way.
Seriously, though, it would be nice to enjoy simplicity together. Walks, talks, healthy meals. It would be nice if we shared more, and did more things together, including the mundane household chores and meal preparations. He thinks I’m not romantic because I don’t want him to buy me flowers or bring me presents. That’s not the case at all, though. I just want him to know me well enough to bring me something I like. He thinks that’s impossible, because I’m too particular. I would like him to share more in our every day living. That’s really what I want. Not presents. Presence.
