I was just coming back from lunch, and I overheard myself thinking something that surprised me. (I know how crazy that sounds. Like many women, I’ve normally got several things cooking at once. In this case, it’s a beautiful, sunny day, I treated myself to lunch somewhere I like, caught up with my brother who uses the phone, I’d crossed some errands off my list, and compared to yesterday in which one good thing happened early [I’m off the couch and the dog is allowed upstairs! Yay!] and apparently sucked up all of the good things for the whole rest of the day, today has been low-key and mostly pleasant. I was listening to my “get the Wednesday started off right” podcast, Happier by Gretchen Rubin and Elizabeth Craft, and thinking, with them, about senior quotes in yearbooks. Mine was, for the record “But if love remain, though everything is lost, we will pay the price, but we will not count the cost.” from a Rush song. And I mostly stand by it (though not counting the cost is easier some days than others.))
And I clearly overheard myself think “But no, seriously, I just can’t do it.”
What, on this mostly pleasant, sunshiney day, did I mean by that?
The obvious thing, given that I was walking into work from lunch, was to think that it’s work. That I’m not long-term happy here. I feel a little stuck, a little walled off (which is partly my fault), a little like I’m doing something I have some talent for but don’t have a lot of passion for and having my hand slapped away any time I get to work on a project that excites me more. With people, some of whom don’t like me much. And all of that is, on some level, true. And the fact that I’m not doing anything about it is probably a good reason to hear my subconscious trying to get my attention. But it wasn’t actively bothering me that much, so what if it was something else?
Grey area guy still texts me about once every two weeks, and we had an exchange last night. And it was a mostly good exchange— poking each other to make each other laugh. Him talking about Star Trek and me about Ghostbusters. He pushed the envelope because it’s what he does, but not in a way that bothered me much. But I worry that he keeps me from going out and finding what I want.
I also had a dream Monday night about an old friend of mine that I’ve never dated, and always felt like it would be a disaster to date whenever anyone who knows how long we’ve been friends asked if we dated, because although there are many things I like and respect about him as a friend, he has sometimes and with a strength that kind of scares me, made me want to forcibly separate his head from his shoulders. Also, I’ve never gotten an “interested in the slightest” indication from him. In the dream, he was who I was waiting for— the person who would tackle the unprintable unprintable for love of me. And in my surprised waking life, I think one of the things I’ve always liked and respected about him was his ability to tackle the unprintable unprintable for love of fill in the blank. I don’t think I am now or am ever likely to be on that list, and if I was and he was for me, that would be the beginning of some serious sorting stuff out that would take up nearly every waking moment of forever, but it’s one of those unsettling dream things that just hasn’t gone completely away.
This morning, I saw a thing about decluttering. Because I’m back in my room with fresh eyes, I really responded to the Marie Kondo question about uncovering a room’s purpose. And I want a place upstairs to write. I write on a laptop or tablet + keyboard or in notebooks with a pen, and so I can technically (and frequently do) do it sprawled on my bed or on any surface, but the truth is that it’s uncomfortable to write sprawled out on the bed or the floor, or propped up by pillows on a bed tray (though God knows I’ve tried) and I need a good chair and maybe one of those laptop desks that I can move around from my bed to my rocking chair to my sitting room. And I found one online that seems perfect. And I’ve wanted to paint my sitting room and the unpainted walls in my bedroom since I moved in, and it seems like that could be a good project while the dog is laid up— involving but not hard, diverting but not inactive. And it would let me feel like I could hang things on the ugly walls I don’t want to decorate, and patch the parts of the wall that the previous owner (who has blank switchplates bloody everywhere) damaged. And that had me excited and feeling good.
So where am I just done? I think it’s probably work.And maybe it’s just one of those days when a day job doesn’t seem all that exciting, though I’m mad grateful for it, waiting for the bill for the dog’s surgery and thinking about adding a car payment to my life. I told myself earlier in the year that I’d keep an eye on my options, and I haven’t, really. I hate the process, but maybe it’s time to take it more seriously than I have.