To be honest I haven’t been feeling very inspired to write lately.
Haven’t been feeling very inspired to…well, do a lot of things. To play music. To paint. To clean house. To take walks even.
I am very much aware that waiting to be “inspired” to do ANY of the things above is a pretty silly thing to do. And yet, and yet.
I have been watching storm clouds roll in for a really, really long time, it seems. Waiting for someone to figure out that I’m not OK. But I think I’m keeping it together. Right?
I’m struggling with everything all at once, it feels, and I am simultaneously so bored with my struggle that I can’t really imagine anyone else finds it worth caring about. It’s boring, being down. Boring to me, boring to write about, boring to read about, boring to be around. There is nothing I do these days, that I do as well as I could do it. I am slacking and squeaking by, with everything I do. And that’s the truth.
A friend wrote the other day, “It’s Ok to not be Ok.” And I thought, IT IS? No it fucking isn’t. In what context is it Ok not to be Ok, really?
I started writing this post about 10 days ago and I have kept hoping I was going to find the “aha” moment, the lesson, the shiny upside chew center nugget of life learning and joy-in-sorrow reassurance thingybob that makes it all feel Ok to post.
I know. This too will pass, right?
Hanging in there. Pushing clouds.