Rebellious Thoughts of a Woman

It seems that break-time has descended upon me. As in take a break from writing the blog. Although it seems more that writing has taken a break from me because I have become writingless. In the past few weeks no thoughts or ideas have germinated, and certainly none have grown. I am simply striding along. Yes, I have become a strider. A friend told me that she thinks it has to do with my father’s recent death, and she is probably right. But beyond that, or because of that, of late life has come to feel depthless. Or is it that peaks of happiness seem so remote? Yes, I am to make my own happiness. Yes, I am to make my own adventures and successes and joys. But how do you go about doing that when you have no vitality except in a corner of your mind that is more a reminder of the kernel of self gone by than a piece of current passion?

There are no excuses and no places to hide. There are no battles to be had and survived. There is the ebb and flow. There is just me.

Lately I stay up way past my 9 o’clock bedtime because too often I regret the passage of another day that is simply a notch on a wall and not an experience.

Now I am tired because the end of the day, the end of the weekend, has come and with it no anticipation of relief through sleep. No relief. Just more of the same monotony of experience and thought, and that is so trying and tiring. But how can I make myself push past who I am in order to be someone who bursts forth with excitement? A slump. Perhaps. Or is it a new place? In the happy, happy way we are supposed to think I am supposed to think that this is some plateau before I reach up, up, up to a higher level of fulfillment and satisfaction. But it doesn’t feel that way. It feels that I have reached a treadmill quality of life with no buttons to push to change pace or direction.

I didn’t think I had it in me to get this far. I thought that I would only get a sentence or two out, like a “Back in Five Minutes” sign. Does that mean that I am not as blank as I thought? Or does it mean that I am always self aware, even as I seep down, depleted? I don’t want to fight this quietness that is calling for control; I will respect it.

Back when…