I have been in a very strange state of mind lately.
I’m exhausted, but I want to get things done. I have been very busy at work, and my mind is constantly moving with lists and plans to get the house ready for our move.
This morning I had the overwhelming feeling that I’m not doing enough.
I seem to be constantly picking up a pen to write something and facing a blank page not knowing what I meant to write.
I’m uncomfortable. I feel fat and like my clothes aren’t fitting quite right. It’s cold in the morning when I leave the house and warm when I leave work, so I’m never dressed right.
Many of the people in my city are waiting to hear if they will be losing their jobs – well, if their jobs will be eliminated – including close friends. My job is safe, so is my husband’s. It’s an exciting time for us, with the new house, but I don’t want to be the happy one in all the stress and darkness around town.
My mind is filled with things I want to think about, things I want to speak out about, but I’m still working on the how part of the equation. I want to sit down and talk to friends, I want to have discussions about real things. There isn’t time for any of it.