Funk
Still in a funk. Listening to Tracy Chapman's Fast Car right now. Steve's out and about running errand's. Isaac's just woken up from a nap.
I wish I'd just snap out of it. It took me more than a month to get out of my last funk, but I think this one will pass soon. Maybe even by tomorrow... Maybe. My unquenchable exhaustion is more likely a symptom of my sleep deprived weekend than of my funkitude. I'm trying to eat well and at least pick up after Isaac, and I'm almost inspired to go cook a fine dinner and do the dishes. We'll see what happens. I made more chocolate chip cookie dough last night. Steve and I snacked on it while watching Il Postino (much more sad than I expected it to be), although I wished I had made it the night before when I stayed up to watch Mansfield Park (much funnier than I expected). The main symptoms of my funk seem to be my lethargy and my deep desire to fill my world with distractions (movies, books, internet). Perhaps this goes back to the burying feelings thing....
I'm also not quite sure what to make of my inner world right now. I should try writing poetry. Listening to all that Pablo Neruda last night kinda inspired the poetic side of me...kinda. But, no images come, no metaphors leap to mind. It's more like silent cacaphony (I know this makes no sense.) Let me try again. It's like an awakening, like returning to a quiet addiction, like hearing the long silenced parts of me.
I married young (not by some people's standards, but by mine at least). I hardly knew who I was, and I hardly questioned who I would become. I just knew who I wanted to be with, and he was Steve. I in no way regret my decision, but I have discovered that a lot of who I am changed and adapted because of who Steve is. In most ways, the changes are good and benefit my marriage and community. But in other ways, I've repressed parts of me in response to Steve, in response to how strong those same parts of Steve are. Take the passionate side of me, for example. Steve's very passionate, and he directs his passion towards everyone and everything he loves. It is one of his strengths. And, because of his abundance of passion, I've compensated by retreating into myself and building walls. Two extraordinarily passionate people would probably drive each other nuts. But, I know I've erred in just how much I've retreated because I feel like parts of me are lost to myself, and like I'm rediscovering the lost me in baby steps.
As I write, my head's literally spinning as if I had too much to drink. But, I haven't drunk anything except water all day. My brain tells me I'm short on B vitamins, but I'm not getting up to take any. So, instead, my head spins while I try to cut through it all and think clearly.
On a different note, Steve suprised me this morning with a love present. He found a sea shell, carved and sanded it into a pendant shape, then used a diamond-bit dremmel tool to etch an image of a bull thistle into it. He drilled a hole to make it a pendant, braided some string to make a necklace, and gave me the first piece of jewlery he's ever made for me.
Perty, innit?
I wish I'd just snap out of it. It took me more than a month to get out of my last funk, but I think this one will pass soon. Maybe even by tomorrow... Maybe. My unquenchable exhaustion is more likely a symptom of my sleep deprived weekend than of my funkitude. I'm trying to eat well and at least pick up after Isaac, and I'm almost inspired to go cook a fine dinner and do the dishes. We'll see what happens. I made more chocolate chip cookie dough last night. Steve and I snacked on it while watching Il Postino (much more sad than I expected it to be), although I wished I had made it the night before when I stayed up to watch Mansfield Park (much funnier than I expected). The main symptoms of my funk seem to be my lethargy and my deep desire to fill my world with distractions (movies, books, internet). Perhaps this goes back to the burying feelings thing....
I'm also not quite sure what to make of my inner world right now. I should try writing poetry. Listening to all that Pablo Neruda last night kinda inspired the poetic side of me...kinda. But, no images come, no metaphors leap to mind. It's more like silent cacaphony (I know this makes no sense.) Let me try again. It's like an awakening, like returning to a quiet addiction, like hearing the long silenced parts of me.
I married young (not by some people's standards, but by mine at least). I hardly knew who I was, and I hardly questioned who I would become. I just knew who I wanted to be with, and he was Steve. I in no way regret my decision, but I have discovered that a lot of who I am changed and adapted because of who Steve is. In most ways, the changes are good and benefit my marriage and community. But in other ways, I've repressed parts of me in response to Steve, in response to how strong those same parts of Steve are. Take the passionate side of me, for example. Steve's very passionate, and he directs his passion towards everyone and everything he loves. It is one of his strengths. And, because of his abundance of passion, I've compensated by retreating into myself and building walls. Two extraordinarily passionate people would probably drive each other nuts. But, I know I've erred in just how much I've retreated because I feel like parts of me are lost to myself, and like I'm rediscovering the lost me in baby steps.
As I write, my head's literally spinning as if I had too much to drink. But, I haven't drunk anything except water all day. My brain tells me I'm short on B vitamins, but I'm not getting up to take any. So, instead, my head spins while I try to cut through it all and think clearly.
On a different note, Steve suprised me this morning with a love present. He found a sea shell, carved and sanded it into a pendant shape, then used a diamond-bit dremmel tool to etch an image of a bull thistle into it. He drilled a hole to make it a pendant, braided some string to make a necklace, and gave me the first piece of jewlery he's ever made for me.
Perty, innit?