I’ve got that skin-crawling-uncomfortable-what-the-hell-am-I-doing-with-my-life feeling again. You know what I mean – or perhaps you don’t. Perhaps you’re perfectly happy with your life. Perhaps you don’t know what the hell I’m talking about.
Or perhaps you do.
It has been a familiar companion of mine for years. Like … so long, I can’t remember the first time. It’s the claustraphobic feeling of being trapped and not knowing how to get out of it. It’s the bone-tiredness of not wanting to deal with the everyday drudge that is life. It is the dread of work the next day. Wanting to bury yourself in bed. Guilt that you’re playing the role of a person that is ‘perfectly fine’ but you’re really not. The wanting to not ‘be’.
I usually share these blog posts on Facebook because I know more people there than Twitter (no offence Twitter, but I really don’t get you) and honestly, if you didn’t Facebook it, did it really happen?
But I won’t be doing that with this one.
I don’t want my partner to see it. (Yeah, you guessed it. He’s not a Twitterer.) I feel ashamed of feeling this way. If I was to actually mouth these words out loud to him, I would feel so stupid and ungrateful and at a complete loss to explain why … just no.
He’s seen me in childbirth. I shall spare him this. Try to keep the romance from completely dying out.
Of course, my logical brain – the one that doesn’t get swayed by the huge behemoth that is emotions – knows, or at least suspects, that this is due to being in lockdown for 4 weeks.
And also spending the last 4 weeks averaging 9-10 hr days working from home on things that are slightly outside my comfort zone because of changes in circumstances (yeah-dohy), new opportunities and the desire to appear indispensible should the shizzle hit the fan for our company and hard decisions need to be made.
Ooh. That last point made me tear up. Must be the one I’m most worried about.
So yeah. Not a good place. I do strongly suspect I’m not the only one and this is indeed a traumatic experience that we are all working hard to make light of when in fact it has changed the way we work, play, view our world and plan for the future.
We had a family get-together planned for end of July. Two-thirds of my grown-up kids and my mum were coming over to spend a week in gorgeous Queenstown. We’d booked an AirBnB and paid the deposit and everything. Now we don’t know if they’ll be able to come over. Should NIH and the littlest princess and I still go down there and spend a week in a huge house, just the 3 of us? If the bans on international travel still exist, should we ask local friends if they’d like to join us? Should we see if we can get the booking postponed until another time?
These thoughts swirl around in my head. First world problems, to be sure. But damn, we’ve been planning this for a year! And we are not exactly flush with cash – it’s taken so long to gather the savings to pay for it. But I haven’t seen my grown up kids since last May. Nothing makes me feel the distance as much as now does.
And whilst I can neither confirm nor deny it, there may or may not be an impending addition to the family tree in mid-November. Will I be able to be there to support the arrival of this impending addition? It’s so hard to say – at the moment, we’re just hanging out for contactless takeaways to be reinstated.
So much emotion pressing down, it’s hard to breath at times (no covidesque pun there).
I feel like the proverbial rat in a trap, wanting to gnaw its own leg off to get out yet knowing that’s not an entirely wise course of action. Thoughts and prayers, right?