Clearly by now you will have noticed, Dear Reader, that I am not the most consistent blogger. I wish I could say this lack of consistency was something that only occurred in BloggerLand, but alas, I would be so lucky.
No, my lack of consistency, my lack of routine, my lack of follow through, spreads into nearly every facet of my life. I literally am the Queen of Procrastination - it is a bad thing. And there are a few reasons why.
What does it matter any more? Really. What does it matter?
Clean the house for whom? Mom's not coming over. Wash the dishes for what? Friends and family don't visit. Tidy the living room why? It's only me here in the dark little hole and I don't care enough to make it any better.
What happened to me? I used to have a reason. Even after Mom passed, I used to get up and attack life. An early bird who bounded out of bed, happy to see the sun and eat a great breakfast. I had plenty of exciting jobs, though barely just enough money, but for all intents and purposes, I was okay. I was plugging along. Keeping my head down and hustling, hustling, hustling.
Then one day I looked up - and I asked what is it all for? And then, I stopped moving.
Lately, and at least the last three years, the lack of reason just seems to get worse and worse. I am a single, Motherless Daughter, with no children. What am I fighting for in life? Apparently nothing, if I can't even get my ass in gear enough to take care of the dishes.
I've been asking myself lately - aren't I enough to fight for? Aren't I enough to do the dishes for, to clean for, to workout for? Aren't I enough of a reason to live life, and not merely exist in a space?
As an unprofessionaly trained, but trial by fire caretaker, I want to literally take care of everything, fix everything, make everything great... just for you. I'm getting the feeling, that when a caretaker has no one to take care of outside of themselves, they stop functioning, like a machine that no longer has a purpose, and they don't know what to do with themselves.
This is the worst it's ever been, and I have a sneaking suspicion that it is because it's been a year since I've had a boyfriend (a great reincarnated Sick Mother), I am getting older, Mom's anniversary is getting farther and farther away, and my life is actually great. My life is actually great but it has nothing to do with taking care of anyone else and I am freaking out.
I feel like I am pulling away. I feel like I am pulling away from an old way of life that I am scared to let go of. I feel like I am pulling away from an old way of life that is scared to let go of me.
Imagine this if you will. It's a waking dream that has started to recur recently. I have been doing some very different things as of late (like driving to Vegas by myself to visit family or swimming a race in the ocean...) If I could draw this waking dream, it'd be exactly what my fears would look like ---
I have nearly broken through an entire corridor of cob-webs. I am pushing through at the end. I am reaching out, so desperately and with all my strength, because I can feel the fresh air, because I can feel my hands and my arms not surrounded by cob-webs. I can feel the free. My head is through and I can breathe the air! I can see that past the cob-webs, things are clear, not fantastically great because I'm still in a cave, but at least clear. These goddamn webs are like thick strings of glue. They are taut and relentless. Awful. They will not let me be. Every time I bound forward, I am dragged back. That does not stop me reaching, agonizingly reaching forward, stretching out with every inch of my fingertips. They cannot have me, I am thinking with my teeth gritted. They cannot have me. I don't want to be in there anymore. I want to be out here. Let me take care of me.