I have been busy. I blame Christmas. Or I credit Christmas, depending on my perspective at any given moment.
I’m tired. I feel stressed… burnt out. But I don’t feel hopelessly bored and scared and useless. Well, not entirely, anyway. It feels like my life might actually have a little bit of meaning. A little. Very little. And that’s an improvement. But I’m still doing too much sleeping at the wrong times. Busy or not, I still want to be in bed, sleeping, escaping everything, all the time.
Ahh… see? There’s always a but.
I’m losing steam. Don’t get me wrong—I’m doing loads better with the holidays this year than I did last year. So far, anyway. But I struggle with the focus on money. I struggle with that all the time, but at this time of year, it’s magnified. Like, times a thousand. Everywhere I look, it’s in my face. And the people who flaunt it. Ugh. Shoot me.
Maybe I’m a hypocrite, in a way. I’m not religious. My beliefs are largely non-existent. So maybe it doesn’t make sense for me to care about Christmas at all. But for as long as I can remember, Christmas has been about family and Santa. So I guess I celebrate my own mythology… the magic of Santa.
Don’t worry. I know he’s not real. (Probably.) But even at my age, I enjoy imagining that he is. Hey, maybe I’m wrong. Maybe he really is out there.
If you’re out there Santa, send me a sign. Or a really hot guy. Or loads of cash. Or magic. Or love. Or any of the other things missing from my life. Please. Anything. I won’t be picky. I promise.
Busy is more good than bad, though. At least I think so. Being bored and empty and purposeless was killing me. Literally, it seemed. But because I’m me (and you know me… or most of you do), I’m worried about what happens after Christmas is over. The busyness will fade. I’ll be bored and purposeless again. My life will lose meaning.
Or none of that will happen.
According to someone I trust—someone whose opinion means something to me—I could be busy all the time. I could have been busy before. I just wasn’t capable of it. Mentally, emotionally… I just couldn’t. Somehow, Christmas gave me the ability to do things. I don’t know if I’ll retain that ability after December 25th. My head says no. My trusted-someone says maybe.
But she thinks more of me than I think of myself.
I pretty much equate myself to something about the level of this picture. Of a reindeer’s ass.
©2018 what sandra thinks