I think I’ve figured out the source of the somewhat-blue feeling I’ve been having. I’ve felt stuck, immobile, fretful, and somewhat oddly cabin-feverish for a few days now. It has to do with the book I just finished – which was beautifully written and … vivid. Ideas, images, and ‘things’ for lack of a better word are rattling around in my head trying to find root; I know that there’s far more depth to the story than I’m really wanting to dive into right now as I found that the story made me anxious and distressed. Don’t misunderstand me – I’m glad I read it and would recommend it. It’s well crafted. I believe that there’s not much personal worth in art if it doesn’t evoke an emotion … and this book certainly did. It’s a good thing.
So I could wade in and try to piece it together, just what it is that’s getting to me.
But really? I hate to sound shallow, but oh MAN. I’ve got enough on my plate, thanks. Enjoyable platefuls. Analyzing, pattern-seeking, idea linking? Those can wait. The book will need a re-read anyways, but I’m not up for it right now.
So the cure for these blahs?
1) Jump wildly on the trampoline with Cameron and my neighbours. Laugh. Giggle. Pick up two boys and play the “sack of potatoes” game. Let them put me in “jail”. Be a monster. Fly like a dragon.
2) Read. I might be on a mission to read new books, but it’s time now for an old comfortable favourite. Worn covers, pages open to favourite passages, predictable and soothing. Im not sure yet which I’ll choose. It’ll only take a few days, then I’ll be back into Arabian Nights.
3) Sit quietly by Cameron’s bed and listen to him sleep.
4) Clean my apartment. It’s a disgrace.