Unmoored

I am unmoored. I have finished reading a book series that I haven’t read in a long time. I had a weekend with friends that involved dinners that I didn’t cook, pedicures, and bingo. Through all of this, I am only half here. It’s a description of this winter as a whole. I spent some time getting my new routine streamlined so that I didn;t have the stress of constanting thinking about little decisions and trying not to forget things. But now, between the work that is still building and commute, I feel drained and uninvolved in my day. I would liken it to being in the rapids, eddies and swirling, and crashing into things from all angles, without being able to really see where I am going. There is a sense that I am moving in a direction, but I am not certain that I am faced that way. I am still looking for things to calm down and smooth out.

In the mean time, I feel like I am only half engaged in anything I do. This is uncomfortable for me. I want my life to be better than this. This combination of agitation with disconnectedness is unsettling. I write occasionally, but what ends up on the page is not insightful analysis of my life experience, but a list of neverending things to do and the frustration of being in my head too often. The words become a seeping drivel. It makes me wonder what I still have to cut out of my life to make it more manageable and give me some space to think and be.