WINTRY MIX

I can be so down, frustrated, sour, irritable, grumpy, grouchy. I can be one major league royal pain in the butt. And there is not one good reason for it. There are reasons, but none of them are good reasons.

Is it chemical? Is it demonic? Is it constipation?

I cannot get a grip on it at all.

I will have a day which is ripe to be picked and plucked. Oozing fecundity. Blossoming with perfume and warmth. And I cannot get out of my own way. I spoil it somehow.

I am not all that worried about anything. I am not angry about much – in particular. I have not been betrayed or disappointed or had my feelings hurt. So why and the hell am I feeling this lousy?

I wonder out loud. Walking around the room talking to myself. I complain that I worry too much about what people think, and if they like me or not. I should be asking myself if I in point of fact like them.

I question my accomplishments. Have I made a mark? Have I made a real difference in people’s lives? Will I be remembered?

Maybe it is the creeping onset of age, and the permanently installed threat of death. I read the obituaries fanatically, and see which of the dead are younger than me.

I just know I cannot get it all done. Everything I had hoped to do and be. I am overwhelmed by how fast the time went, and how the speed appears to be picking up. The intimacy of “over and out” is just too damn close for comfort.

I dwell on how I have been wronged in the past. I mull over in my mind how I should have gotten even. I have composed whole speeches to address all the major wrongs and wounds of my life.

I can be such a diva.

I think it might be the lack of appreciation shown. The obvious neglect. The failure to affirm or acknowledge. My dwindling pride. My drained esteem. The fact that I don’t think anyone notices anything I do, or hears what I say, or notices the scowl on my face. The world is oblivious to me. The entire global population has turned a blind eye to my state.

I get tired of own complaints. This is now becoming pathetic. Irritating to the max. So damn immature. What is wrong with me? How can I be in such a shitty place so much of the time? Why IS sadness swarming about my head so often?

Then it happens.

I catch a whiff of lilacs. I eat a sticky bun. A rerun of Roseanne comes on and reminds me of my first wife and her great laugh.

The snow falls quietly. I say exactly what I mean. Someone thanks me for something I forgot I did. I don’t binge eat all day(well, except the sticky bun, but oh well).

I feel a Spring breeze caress my face. I take a hot shower. I read a book.

I watch a sappy movie with my son and I try not to cry.

I think of things to do. I call people. I do errands. I make plans. I get excited. I have energy. I have no need for a nap. I even feel young.

How can this be?

Peaks and valleys.

Obituaries and the funny pages.

Divas and disciples.

Mourning while celebrating life.

Laughing when I can.

Feeling like an ass.

Oh, well.

So it goes.