It’s a sunny, beautiful day. The clouds are puffy, some white, some grey and look as if they’ll turn ominous. The birds are busily nesting and mating, flitting and chirping. The life of humans goes on as it ever does, with all of its noise and flurry of aloof importance. A warmer but blustery day, there is nothing a Minnesotan could find wrong with the weather, seeing as the sun’s appearance has melted all the crazy spring snow we’ve gotten all month. I busy myself with cleaning out planters, readying the balcony for plantings and green, spring beauty. The kitties joined me and soaked in the afternoon on the cushy chair pads. I sipped leftover coffee and snacked on some potato sticks, looking out into the north-eastern skies.
Sounds pretty good, but alas for this growing gloom in my mood. I feel as if I have nothing to say to people anymore, nothing to share, and nor do they seem to listen or care anyway. All the things that consume my mind and heart are things no one seems to give two tosses about. And the things people share with me are things I couldn’t give two tosses about. The world will ever turn, whether or not I speak in it, whether or not I live or breathe, love or hate, cry or laugh. I am fighting my demon again. The great beast who lurks in the corners, always ready to strike. I have held this beast at bay for all my life, even when I slept with it nightly in the darkest, dreariest pit in my soul, and at times with greater strength and courage than other times. I feel so weary. I’m just very, very weary. And angry, resentful, annoyed. I’m annoyed at EVERYTHING. My co-worker eating her chips, I can hear every crunch as if it’s a drill grinding into my brain, the way she stirs her oatmeal every single morning, the way she eavesdrops on everything I do, even tying my shoes, she’ll know if I’ve done it. People blowing their noses, cars whizzing past, bicyclists shushing by, and workmen, oh the season of the dreaded construction! It’s too much. I feel I will go insane if I have to listen anymore to mortal living. My fantasies lately involve me disappearing into a society of one. I’m so weary of dealing with people. Of having to be diplomatic, of having to listen, of compromise, of sharing. I just want my time to be mine. I want space to just let these moods pass without drama, without explanation, without worry of stepping always on eggshells. My skin crawls and itches constantly, but I think it is my psyche trying to undo me. It’s hard to breathe, to think, to move, to be still, to wake, to sleep, to shower, to take care of things. It’s just hard being me right now. I want up.