These past few weeks have kicked my butt. I forget every year how hard the holidays are for me. It's amazing, but I really DO forget. Planning all through the fall, I think of the projects I'll do, the food I'll make, the wonderful memories we'll create, the experiences we'll have. Christmas music on all the time, candles lit and hearts full to overflowing. And then, mid-December, I remember that my mother is dead, my dad is far away, my family scattered all over the freaking world, and I get all stalled. I realize that I HATE the holidays, and why do we have to do this stupid thing ANYWAY? I put away the decorations practically wilting with relief. And this year, to make things even more complicated, we added a temporary child to the mix. And every time sometime magical happened with him, a little part of me whispered, "But where will he be next Christmas?" I cannot silence that voice, no matter how hard I try.
And now it's a new year. I'm still the petty, irritable, stubborn perfectionist I've always been. I find myself letting future "what-ifs" rob me of today's joys. I don't remember how to keep my plates spinning. I can't seem to find what my normal is anymore. Outside, the world is bright and cold with snow and with the promise of snow. My empty fireplace beckons to me. Six new books are waiting. I have hundreds of photos to edit, organize, and scrapbook. Unfortunately, I can't remember why I bother, but I want to remember.
Am I having a mid-life crisis?
Sorry to sound so uncheery, but it's all I got right now.
