Okay, before I post this I just have to write a disclaimer. I’m PMSing. Sorry if that’s too much information. Give me a day or two and I’ll be back to normal. This I recognize is a freak-out that should just be kept private. Typed into my own personal nobody-ever-sees rant journal. But what would be the point of that? Isn’t the point of a blog to overshare? So, here we go.
I have an engine on my life raft. I do.
I just don’t feel like it’s a great big honking huge one lately.
You know the little toy boat submarines, where you wind up the propeller and when you let go, zzzzzziiiiipppp? Yeah. That’s the engine on my life raft lately.
Somewhen, way back, I had passion. I’m sure of it. I can remember it. I was eager, enthusiastic; passionate about life, research, family, and friends. I learned to kayak, to sail, to rock climb.
I do still have passion. For Cameron and his life. There’s nothing wrong with that. And look at my rant posts – I have passion about single parenting in a so far directionless way, passion about my family, passion in a negative way about Adrian.
But most days I feel like my huge honking big engine passion got replaced by a little put put put child’s toy squeaky-passion. In bright primary colours. Good gods, I used to be able to coherently discuss things I don’t even remember exist any more. Now I can’t carry out a ten minute conversation if it doesn’t concern parenting. Potty training just sneaks into my sentences.
I think I’ve got to find whatever box that engine got stashed in and retrieve it. It’s time.