Monday Moaning and Groaning

Damn. It’s Monday. I have a busy week ahead of me and as usual, I cannot focus. All I can think about are the ‘what ifs’. I’m SO tired. I am thinking about the idea that my mother will be moving to Oregon. I’m contemplating ways to move back to New England, or the Yukon, or the International Space Station, or perhaps find us a droopy old ivy-choked stone cottage somewhere back in Europe, where I can ride my horse for miles along canals, and write my pulp Fantasy by a window while watching my dogs try to figure out a hedgehog. If only.

These past months since Daddy got sick have been insurmountably difficult and I can safely say that if it weren’t for my horse, and my husband, and a couple of good friends, I probably would have cracked. I’ve found the people who said they will step in to help to be too embroiled in their own lives and pursuits to do as they promised; I find my interest in anything pleasurable to me to be non-existent right now—except a certain hooven beast I post a lot about.

I’ve sort of let the ORS take the back seat for survival purposes. I can’t dedicate the time and energy needed to hunt down venues, negotiate for reasonable prices and start pulling people together. Nobody else really has the time or resources to do it in my stead, so it’s just resting entirely on one of the chapters to keep the ball rolling for now. I haven’t sewn anything to speak of since my birthday… and I’m finding the motivation to be difficult to tap into—especially with my husband home and his dislike of the sewing mess.

He has yet to find work. Oregon’s job situation was bad before the recession, now it’s bloody hopeless. We laughed the other day because he was browsing Craigslist, and found a job for $10 per hour requiring a bloody Master’s Degree. LOL! They probably will find some poor sap to take it too, desperate people, taking jobs they are overqualified and underpaid for… because there’s simply nothing else. Truly pathetic.

I feel irrevocably trapped—trapped by health benefits and a 401K, by a decent salary and incentives. I know it’s selfish to feel this way; when other people would kick themselves for what I have; but it is a family curse. We are never content if we are not challenged, if we are not engaged; if the situation is rote. I am depressed. Heavily. Debbie Downer at her best. I spend a lot of time just fighting back the sense of hopelessness and bouts of ‘is-this-all-there-is-itis’. I have little things that keep me from sinking deeply… but this economic situation is pressing heavily on me, my husband and my family. My sister Helen struggles still to find work, TWO YEARS, she’s been fighting… and she’s a brilliant, qualified person with tremendous skills. She’s been picked up by possibilities and then thrown down because there’s always someone more qualified.

The solution is going into business for ourselves. But we require that little windfall—that little ‘good thing’ that will finally happen. I can’t think it won’t because if I do, I become so despondent I could cry. I can only hope that the good thing will happen—that what’s really meant to be will be, and I will wake up one morning feeling okay with what faces me, and not oppressed by it. I can only know how much lighter my heart would be if I liked what I did every day.

My blog is a blend of the intensely personal and the inexplicably silly. It is me. I apologize for my down attitude lately; it will perk up, I promise. I will get a handle on my Monday-blues and be office-specialing again sooner or later.

Have a decent week, for what it’s worth. It’s sort of hard to see decentness when it’s Monday. Maybe tomorrow things will look brighter—but the idea of Satan (aka Mom) being a few miles closer to me doesn’t make me feel any better. Argh.