I’m in a droopy mood right now, though I shouldn’t be. The sunshine today has been so light and fluffy, and lemon meringue breeze is still floating in through our wide-open windows. Natalie has hardly stopped singing all day. Plus, even though the spiky green germs gouging out the inside of my head exempt me from having to be productive, I was able to write for 2-1/2 hours this afternoon. I should feel like tap-dancing in a glittery dress, not pulling on yoga pants and burying my face in a pillow.
It’s frustrating that my brain cannot manage to stay in a happy place for longer than five minutes at a time. I really don’t try to be moody or complicated or all the other adjectives usually reserved for women during PMS. I just can. not. manage. to feel like I’ve climbed high enough on my list of “Shoulds” to justify feeling good about myself. And yes, I realize that’s both absurd and counterproductive. I realize that with my personality, I will always come up with “Should do” lists too long and time-consuming for me to make much of a dent.
So, where this entry is going, I have no idea. I don’t have any neat, pre-packaged revelations that I can tie a ribbon around and bestow upon my psyche. Even if I did, I hang out with the kind of guilt that is completely impervious to logic. No chance of reasoning my way to good cheer, guaranteed.
Maybe it’s just overflow from last September, when I started a teaching job that nearly sucked the life out of our family and made me want never to teach again. Or maybe from the previous September, when I was a cleaning lady–the only job I could find that didn’t require putting newborn Natalie in daycare–and feeling 200 degrees of unfulfillment. Of course, there’s always the September before that, when I found myself stocking shelves, trying to come to grips with an unexpected pregnancy, and feeling utterly lost in the world. I guess I don’t have much hope in Septembers anymore.
I miss starting school at this time of year (nerd alert… but you probably already knew that). I loved jumping into challenges that came with syllabi and final exam dates and objectives I knew I could handle. I even liked the deadlines, because I knew once each date came, I would have accomplished something definite. Now, I feel like I’m struggling to fit motherly and housewifely duties into an academic life that I don’t have rights to anymore.
I still don’t have any glossy way to wrap this up, but I am hoping upon hope that this September will end my three-year trend of soul-numbing, joy-crushing days… that I can wake up each morning excited about what I get to do… that even if all I do is mother my daughter and love my husband and take care of the little tasks of survival, I can feel valuable at the end of the day.
It’s not just September…it’s September in Italy!