Introspection can be dangerous, exhilarating, miserable, responsible, boring, scary, or avoided at all costs. I, sadly, have not been able to avoid it for the last two weeks (and there’s my explanation for no blogging, Younger Daughter, so stop nagging me) and it’s not exhilarating in the slightest. It is a re-run episode of a sitcom that gets watched only when nothing else is on and you remember the episode vividly and also remember that you didn’t like it very much but what the hey, there’s nothing else on and the remote is all the way over there so you settle in for a mediocre half-hour of time. No wonder I don’t like it.
But it’s been following me all over the place, like a piece of yarn from my latest project stuck to the inside of my shoe and not even that noticeable but still there, and when I finally notice it I realize what a dope I am for not noticing it earlier. Had I noticed this bout of introspection following me around and nagging me for attention maybe I could have dealt with it earlier and saved my brain and my emotions that much time.
But no, here we are, and now we’re just muddling through. I can’t blame it on the weather, because I’m really not sick of winter. Think about it: I knit. Why would I not love the season of knitted items galore? I also hate sweating, remember? Why would I want the season of humidity and lethargy to be here that much sooner? Also, a sunny day when there are no leaves on the trees makes the world sparkle just a bit more and I like that.
So no, I can’t blame the weather for my malaise. I also can’t blame the calendar. We’ve had all sorts of social events happening here and there, and events with friends, and things to plan and look forward to and that has generally kept me content. It’s a bit disconcerting to have my hips and knees lodge a formal protest with their creakiness and generally unwillingness to come along quietly, instead deciding to scream and holler their incessant demands for not moving at all. But still, we get stuff done.
It might be the phrase that pops up every now and again with people I run into:
WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO NOW?
This is what’s driving me a bit crazy and starting those internal dialogues in my head. I used to be a teacher. I’m not teaching any longer. So what am I going to do now? Hubby offered to get me a job at his company, and I literally had the kind of reaction you do when you swallow Robitussin for the first time. Other friends cheerfully piped up with “why don’t you teach private lessons?” which would bring me right back to where I was and the not-so-good feelings I had and by the way, people are cutting back on spending money for things like that. Another friend offered me a part-time job in her office doing her filing, which was a sweet and generous offer but not something I want to do. And every time I mentally reject something, I get the TTOG (two tons of guilt).
I’m guilty because Hubby is the sole money-maker for the family, even though he promises me we are going to be fine and we can handle it. We’ve done it before when he’s been unemployed and I was staying home with my young children. I’m guilty because it seems people are expecting me to come up with another game plan to make my days worth something. I’m guilty because … because … oh, hell.
… because I am enjoying staying home and being off a crazy schedule and having time for anything and everything.
Isn’t that crazy? I’m guilty because I’m happy where I am?
At this time I’d like to thank my mother, the Catholic Church and all her nuns and fathers, motherhood in general, and my close Jewish friends for this legacy of monumental guilt that has taken up permanent residence in every pore on my soul. If I didn’t have you in my past, I wouldn’t be wallowing in this guilt today. So, thanks for that. Allow me to return the favor sometime.
And on that note, I’m going to make another cup of tea and knit something. Because I can.