I'm such a slave to my emotions, and I don't love that about myself. I just haven't FELT like writing up any posts, so I haven't. I also haven't FELT like doing a few other things that needed to be done. But there isn't all that much room for slackage in this little life of mine, so where do I fall short? The blogging.
A week ago today I all of a sudden felt it hit. It always hits right after really productive, busy, happy, awesome days. It hits like a ton of bricks just when I think I couldn't even conceive of feeling anything but sublimely happy. Then, boom. Down it drops.
Do you know what I mean with this, or is it my own private quirk? Because it must not be. I have to believe that. But just when I feel that all those balls in the air are being juggled with ease, I kind of just say, 'Eh.' and down go a few, and what do I care? I don't.
And then I start to stay up late. Late for me is like 10:30, or heaven forbid, midnight. And then the next morning I'm a zombic mess, talking in grunts and shuffling from one thing to the next in a daze. My lethargic limbs kind of do things, but not exactly the things my brain is trying to tell them to do. And whatever. Because my brain is still trying to sneak back to dreamland just a little bit and not be so much awake.
It doesn't really work all that well. But I bet you already guessed that.
And I wish I could just snap the heck out of it, you know, and be back to that self that has more fun and does more of the things. But then I know, welp, I just have to wait it out a bit and one sudden moment my emotions will dictate that now is the time and then life is busy and productive and fun and I remember that oh yes this is the me that I like. This is the me that connects with the world in real and meaningful ways. This is the me that grabs at joy in the smallest little moments. This is the me that is really alive.