I think there is a kind of rhythm to the days. I find Sunday to be the hardest day and it bleeds over into Monday. After that things get better. Then on Saturdays I feel shaky and by Sunday I'm a mess.
I've never liked Sundays. They seemed to be the day everyone else has family, everyone else has some kind of routine, some kind of special something. I remember when I was single I would simply hate Sunday and grit my teeth through it. After church everyone went off to their family dinners and reading the paper and naps. I guess they still do. With David I became one of those people and now I'm not. Again.
I worked in the garden this morning and finished cleaning the house. I need to find a new routine. As I say that I am struck by how often I say those words. I need to find a new.....something.
I am tired of whining about feeling sad, lonely, confused. And truthfully, sometimes I feel happy, even peaceful. Sometimes I even feel excited about new options. And I guess that is progress.
I bought new rugs, the kind I like. I think about getting a new couch, the ones I have that came from his ex-wife are uncomfortable. I applied to foster dogs. I added a new beehive and two new chickens. I think about starting a school, in the shop. Maybe I'll get another tattoo. If I don't feel like eating dinner I don't, sometimes I just make popcorn.
Life is change, I know this. I just thought maybe, finally, it would be more subtle. A friend told me a week or so ago that I had packed a lot of living into my fifty-six years. I'm pretty sure it was not a compliment. I had begun to appreciate the routine, the subtle changes. And Boom...another huge change that is only creating a lot more big changes. Is the universe trying to teach me something? Change. Control. I have no control, not really. No matter how I plan, prepare, consider options, harness expectations, sink into comfort; I will not be ready when the change comes. The only hope is trusting that when I leap the net does indeed appear.