Down the Rabbit Hole

Heavy with it

Another Monday. I tried to combat my anxiety about starting work again by dragging myself out of bed half an hour early. I had intended to take up my much needed exercise regime again but ended up taking the dog for a short walk and calling it progress. It was bitter cold and by the time I made it back to the front door, both the feeling in my hands and my resolved had abandoned me. I did manage to apply a full face of makeup and drag a half-way professional outfit out of my closet. I still managed to avoid turning on the iron for yet another day. Despite my attempt at optimism, the office's quiet phone lines and his heavy, defeated tone have managed once again, to tank my mood. It is hard not to feel resentful sometimes. I think I've had my share of men who tell me their lives have hit "rock bottom". It is hard not to take that statement personal when I have heard if from ever man I've ever been seriously involved with. It matters very little that each of their "rock bottom's" have very different attributes or that they arrived to that state through very different consequences. In sharp contrast, he's done nothing to perpetuate his situation. It was not his fault his budding business venture fell through just at the time the economy took a bad turn and as a result, jobs are few and very far between. His rock bottom is born of bad timing and not brought about by any addiction or a series of bad choices and decisions. I can reason with myself well enough most of the time but it is difficult to find faith and hope when you feel as if you have do it for two people. It is hard to know that the person with whom you share your life now feels as if their lives has never been as hard and as unimpressive before. It is hard not to take that personal even though it has nothing personal to do with me. Talking about it though has now gone the way of "things best not brought up unless you want to argue". Instead I try to write, get my feelings out in a more productive way so I don't burden him or myself with their hefty weight. If there is anything the quiet days at the office have afforded me, it is a chance to write more or at least focus more on the process of writing. Now if I can just focus equally as well on the process of shrinking my butt, then I will truly be on the path of self-improvement. In fact, if I had to be completely honest, I've let myself go. The cold and bitter winter has done nothing to help my lack of motivation either. I'm sick to death of being indoors, under blankets and wrapped in layers. I long for those roaring winds of March because they are the harbingers of Spring. I think about how much it might help to see the first bit of green amid the patches of stubborn ice. I might be tempted to walk a little farther than the distance from front door to my heated car seats. I might be able to quickly shed the extra pounds I've put on since the wedding, might be able conjure up the desire to go out again, buy a new blouse or wear something sexy to bed for once. I've always been a big fan of snow. I have always loved the quiet grace of it falling from the gray skies to blanket the ground with a carpet of white. I love the way the world looks the morning after a snow storm, clean and bright, all the ugliness covered over. These last few weeks though, there has been no new snow. It has only been bleak and cold. The ugliness of a world subjected to a stubborn winter, desperation and fear is exposed in every dilapidated business forced into foreclosure, every doom and gloom telecast and in every mountain of dirty, old snow that refuses to melt.