This is about how I feel. Really not able to get my footing as of late. Trying figure out my problem. It can't just be PMS. Can it? I just wanna lie in the sand and close my eyes for a minute. Just get my baring, my wits, my patience, my marbles, my balance. I'm anxious. I'm tired.
Other portraits of body parts here.
**AMENDMENT** Last night, I performed a regular Tuck-In Ceremony with the girls. A third kiss. A tenth hug. A "no you can't sleep in my bed." A "your foot wasn't hurting 10 minutes ago." Two sips of water, and the finale: "Enough already." I slipped into soft sheets next to Husband to read, and then I felt something very foreign to me, a feeling that I've felt so infrequently that each time I cock my head and poke at the feeling like I'm performing an alien probe. I felt nauseous. I stayed very still and ran my thoughts all over the nausea which sat on me like a beach ball. My mouth watered, and then from the hours of 9:15pm to 1:10am I threw up at thirty-five minute intervals. If I am not dramatic in life in general, I am a fantastically dramatic thrower-uper. I let it all out. Mad grunts during the act and between hurls, I release haunting groans that reverberate off the bowl. I stop no instinctual sounds. But as I threw up, I kept thinking maybe I haven't been surrendering to a mild depression but only bogged down by a stomach virus. I've never been so happy to vomit in my life. I didn't throw up the fact that I'm turning 40 in a few months, but every 35 minutes I slunk-strutted to the toilet and purged some of the doomsday about it. Maybe later, I'll be able to shit out the entire crisis.
I woke this morning at 5:30 with a surge of hope, overjoyed even. Today is one of my commute days to work -- an hour and a half away -- and I wasn't sure I'd be able to make it. I realized my job would be suspicious had I called in sick, a practice I have not done in a million years. But I bounced up, giddy and happy. I got ready and raced out the door to catch the sunrise on the drive in.