Friday, February 8, 2013


I've been wedged in this colorless place lately. A rut, really. When I think back, I can pinpoint it as somewhat of a familiarity--I'm always trudging through this displaced feeling at the turn of a new year. But this year's different.

Every year in recent memory, I have resorted to spending January honing my resolutions, really tweaking my goals and fine-tuning what I hope to achieve, attain, overcome. February was reserved for diving deep and getting it done. I had faint tugs of this itch to make the lists, put the goals on paper... and yet, I haven't done it like I set out to. And taking my rut, coupled with the nagging sense of failure of making my plans, the icky sludge still hovers over me. I know a lot of my listlessness has everything to do with losing my mom and missing home. I know pain eases in time. I know planes exist so I can hop aboard and be hugging my burly, jovial dad's neck within a couple hours. I'm not experiencing a crisis--this isn't a hyper-emotional stage or a breakdown--more of a lack of anything. I'm trying to seek joy in the good around me--the allure of my still-new town, my posse of sweet friends, the boyfriend, my precious pup... but lately, I've just been too bogged down. I halfheartedly joke that I just need a week to myself--no obligation to work, relationships, anything. Just lock me in a room for a week, let me sleep and make my lists and get back to me.

I know me and I know I'll snap out of this soon... I just loathe this feeling of uselessness and the lack of spirit that is so anti-me. I'm getting there... just taking longer than I wanted. Some of this is within my control--and I plan to bend and mold it all exactly how I need to in order to get back to me.

Stand by...  

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