The kids are asleep, email and Facebook checked, Thor is at work, and I am out of ways to postpone feeling out of sorts.
I’ve been coming alive this year in remarkable, beautiful ways. But the side effect is that I am no longer so easily pacified. I’ve rejected the usual grammes of soma or “happy happy” patches or whatever your favorite nerdy reference is for hiding from darker feelings; which is to say, I am no longer satisfied to eat or imbibe or media conk or even read this restlessness away.
So I just simmer in it. Play a little music, draw some, write a few words. Sit and leave the room for no known reason and then sit again. Uncomfortable, yet preferring the current dissonance to the even-temperament of the past. Knowing I am just paying the bill for sharpening my ability to live and love and grow.
Last time I felt like this, I wrote a poem. Tonight with luck maybe I’ll get there, but for now, I’ll just have to squirm like an skewered insect specimen until the mood passes.
I sure am proud of the way my self-patience has grown lately. I am able to sit consciously through emotional waiting rooms I never would have set foot in before.
Anyway, here I am, for now. Achieving balance as best I can.