Wrinkle

I’m a bit bored lately.  I shouldn’t be, there is plenty to get done.  I’m simply not in the mood to do it.  Maybe bored is not the right word, I’m a bit distracted, somewhere else.

Stacks and piles, lists and emails, all needing attention, some past due, some embarrassingly late, and yet I sit.

Picking nail polish, I was supposed to get my nails done last week, but I cancelled, so now I’m picking.  Looking around my office, work papers are now mixed with personal papers.  I hate that.  Well, I usually hate that, but lately I’m not in a tizzy to get things straightened up.  I’m in the mess, wrappers from snacks, empty water bottles, stuff.  This is not a natural state for me and somehow it feels completely organic.

The other day I was at Starbucks with a full on swirly in my hair.  I looked like an afternoon drunk picking up a tea before I had to get the kids.  I noticed myself in the window on the way out and didn’t care.  It was different, a little eccentric.

I think some of this may be come down from a life spent too together.  Always having the answers, juggling, being a saver, doer of all tasks, can be tiring.  My Wonder Twin powers are diminishing and I stumble a lot more these days, but in the stumbling I’m finding things out about myself.  It’s kind of fun, freeing.  The sun still comes up.

The funny part is, I’m all right.  I’m not depressed or “going through something.”  Life is fine.  My children are healthy, sassy and happy most of the time.  I still love my husband, we can pay our bills.  I have a cute haircut that looks artsy even on the afternoons I’m pretending to be Hemmingway.

Things are good, there are even bursts of great.

Maybe this sensation, this wandering, staring, lack of doing is a break.  Instead of cleaning toilets, playing the role, looking the part, could be that I’m on to something genuine.

Getting older is funny that way.  Things fall apart and the cream, the real stuff, starts to rise.  At some point the nails will need to be done, but for now, the polish on my forefinger looks like West Virginia and I’m OK with that.

My thoughts from the laundry room.  Day Dreaming.

6 thoughts on “Wrinkle

  1. Oh my goodness, I love this. You have described what I think most creative people go through on a regular basis and just don’t talk about. We sit, frustrated. I call these the fallow times. It seems as if nothing much is happening but some kind of energy, emotional or thought shift is happening. And then you emerge, somehow the same but different. I feel like I just found my twin:).

  2. As I age my thoughts become sparser and not as deep. I take things with a grain of salt and the wrinkles on my head make me look like a reptile. Wrinkles do not fade they get more pronounced like words in a statement of “you are older” But I still have the wink which tells people there is a young person trapped in an old body.

  3. I think it’s a heady case of “Spring Fever”—thank goodness, we’re all normal–well, as “normal” as writers can be! Enjoy and have some chocolate while you’re “suffering”. . . . 😉

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