This is my second day of true discomfort.
I awoke yesterday morning with that certain inner restlessness that is a harbinger for a day without purpose. How can I have purpose when I don’t know what I want and don’t have any idea of what I want to do.
If I were an alcoholic I would have a drink for breakfast.
Yesterday when I recognized the feeling, I meditated and talked to myself about what I must do.
I must figure out a purpose. It could be small, but it must be linear and concrete. Something to soothe the nameless anxiety.
Which is hard to do when my sister is visiting and my husband wants us to go have a coffee. And I don’t want to miss a minute with either of them.
After my sister left, I gave myself a concrete, physical task. I needed to to some painting at a rental. I would accomplish something that must be done. And yet, driving there I was in such deep grief that everything seemed black and I was near tears. I couldn’t reach the heart of it.
May I add that it was two days before Christmas. I don’t have any shopping to do, but I do have a house to clean and food to make for company on Christmas Day. I’m not uptight about what I have to get done. I’m uptight that I’m not uptight about it.
I won’t even describe the wandering, useless meanderings of my life yesterday. At least I went to a movie with my husband last night. I made him happy.
I am restless and without anchor again this morning. I have some new thoughts. No answers.
Maybe it is my lifelong struggle between my longing to be with friends and family and to do it all perfectly, and my urge and need to be totally alone, unscheduled, untrammeled…expressing myself through my writing which is a solitary pursuit.
If it is some deep inner loss, unfaced, unmanaged and unacknowledged, I don’t know what it is.