I've been feeling pretty crappy lately. I feel guilty even saying that, because all things considered my life is pretty fucking sweet.
I have a job. It pays me, I get to leave at 5pm, it's a fifteen minute walk from my house and I get a shitload of vacation time. All things considered, it's pretty goddamn cushy. But I don't enjoy it, I'm frustrated and I'm bored. I half-heartedly think about other options, but I am then overcome with fear about starting a new job so soon before the wedding. And we want to move out of the mid-Atlantic, and I just don't know what I want to do with my life. And I feel guilty for allowing myself to wallow in this sort of apathetic self-pity, because it could be so much worse. I am so lucky.
I'm relatively healthy, but my knee still hurts me every single day. I can't work out, I have to go to the chiropractor twice a week when I'd rather be doing something - anything - else with my evenings. I think about the kid who ran that red light in January every day, and I wonder if he knows how much he still impacts my life on a daily basis. I fantasize about going to his house and punching him in the face. I think of Charlotte Yorke telling Mr. Big that she rues the day he was born, I plan out what I'd say to this kid if I saw him in the street. Would I go on a tirade? Would I show him my scar? Would I cry? Would I lecture him on how he very nearly cost me me life and how I hope he's more careful now? I think about these things, and I feel guilty for spending so much time feeling angry and vengeful. It could have been so much worse.
I have a comfortable home, but it always seems to be a mess. Laundry overflows the hamper and cat litter coats all the floors. I have piles of picture frames I've been meaning to hang and supplies for a yet-to-be-started project sitting in our front room. We need to replace the window in the litterbox room and the front window has mysteriously developed a huge and growing crack. The window above the front door still needs to be finished and the bathtubs need to be resealed. Boards on the deck are warped and need to be replaced. It seems like every time we finish one project, three more jump up to take its place. And I hate myself for daring to feel frustrated over the house that we are so lucky to own, that we can still afford.
I have three cats that I adore, but one of them has a fucking roundworm. Again. I just took a poop sample from all three of them to the vet for annual parasite testing and they all came back clean, but someone threw up a worm on the carpet three weeks ago and it wasn't me or Joel. I'm proud of myself because I've almost become numb to this -- last year I could hardly think, I was so grossed out by the idea of worms. This year I'm just tired, I'm sick of dumping out their litterboxes and washing them every night. I'm tired of having them spit and gag and run away from me when I try to give them the medication. I don't particularly want to spend my evenings squirting goo down their throats, either, and I certainly didn't want to spend $120 for the dewormer and take a plastic bag full of poop to the vet's office. I should be relieved, because Max is doing so well on chemo and Madison's cancer/mystery illness seems to have just gone away, but I'm so goddamn sick of these worms.
I'm getting married to a wonderful man, but I feel in a constant state of anxiety over the wedding. I promised myself I wouldn't do this; I swore to myself that the minute the wedding started to stress me out, I'd scale whatever it was back, I'd let it go. But now that the time is here I'm finding that I can't help myself. This is what I do, it's who I am. I worry about things. I've become adept at managing this part of my nature by figuring out what's stressing me out and either doing something about it or making a conscious effort to let it go... but when it's just this general state of anxiety, there's not much I can do. I just know that I hate feeling like this. And I hate that I'm allowing myself to feel like this.
I have more to say on all of these topics, but I just don't know how to do it right now without turning into a weepy, self-indulgent mess. I really thought that these feelings would pass once spring finally arrived... but they haven't. I don't like whining like this here, but I am hoping that by getting it OUT I'll start to feel better. I'm hoping that I'll look back on this entry in another two weeks and laugh at how dramatic I was feeling over nothing. Because really, it is nothing. I know that. That's why I feel guilty on top of feeling crappy.