sueeeus

Oh Lordy, 46 is closer to 50 than it is to 40, and 50 is a daunting number.

the sea refuses no river

I prefer not to trouble myself with silly numbers, though. I’m living life, reveling, seeking goodness, striving for the best of the best. In a word…

...busting out...

These are days.  These are the days you might fill with laughter until you break.
These days you might feel a shaft of light make its way across your face.  And when you do, then you’ll know how it was meant to be…

(…there’s a song for everything…)

I’ve been smiling until my cheeks hurt.  Laughing.  Sleeping.  Dare I say it?  Relaxed.

In one extended weekend I’ve enjoyed so many things!  A ferry ride to explore an island, a drive to explore new parts of the city, fish and chips, and an amazing live performance of Carmina Burana with a full orchestra and over a hundred choral singers.  I’ve immersed myself in Immortal Beloved and been captivated by the Count of Monte Cristo.  I’ve had hearty country breakfasts, pink martinis, red wine and decadent coffees.

Good company, good friends, good times– I’m enjoying the best birthday of my life, effervescing in love and good will.

let there be cake

As for being 46?  I think I’m weathering it well.  Well enough.  I’m ready.  Bring it on.

lost in thought and lost in time

hope springs eternal

Spring is springing and I think I may be getting ahead of the seasonal blues, so I am hereby stopping the Wellbutrin XL therapy.

Today.

Now.

We shall see shortly whether or not this is (was) a good idea.

It’s another one of those days where I have everything in the world to joy and rejoice over, yet I find myself short of breath, anxious, and wanting to find a place to curl up and escape from who knows what.

meet the new boss, same as the old boss

I wish I could put my finger on it.  I don’t like it.  I actually stole away from my kids for a moment, under the pretense of changing into my jammies, and curled up in fetal position, in the dark, on my bed.  Two minutes, maybe three.  A brief, silent explosion of tears.

The only thing I can think of is an accumulation of things observed in my periphery.  Recognizing an estranged friend of a loved one and waving a greeting.  Relief that my little guy is finally eating again, after nearly a week of intestinal distress, and with that, possibly the realization of pent up anxiety and helplessness over his condition.  Knowing there is anguish consuming people I love, and not being able to do anything about it.  Feeling the ripples caused by my movements in and out of the lives of people around me.  Breaching comfort zones.  Guilt over not calling my dad to wish him a happy birthday.  I sent him a Ben Franklin, but I just couldn’t bring myself to call him.  Frustration with myself for allowing the simple business of life and living to affect me so viscerally and physically.

Fear, perhaps?  Fear that someone or everyone will notice that I’m not, after all, perfect.  Me, the girl with the golden life, unable to meet my own expectations.

Oh, who knows.  I’ll go to sleep tonight, and wake up to a brand new day with a smile on my face and a song in my heart, and all of this will be a thing of the past.  I will wonder how I could possibly ever fall into such a funk.  I will be perplexed, unable to understand it, so I will shake my head and dismiss it.  I might even tell myself I won’t let it happen again, because it makes no sense and there’s just no reason for it.  I might even believe it.

Until the next time.