Well seasoned

I noticed a couple of things today: 

1. This blog doesn’t get updated nearly enough.
2. I talk a LOT about the weather and seasons.
3. Things are better.

This last is pretty incredible. 

I have been under a severe cloud with regards to all things work for, well, longer than I care to remember.  I was suffering from the heartbreaking certainty that all was not well with what I was doing. Despite any evidence some parts of my brain could muster, I could not shake off the general sense of impending doom. It was merely a matter of time before untold awfulness would ensue, and I was uncovered as the charlatan I secretly knew myself to be. 

Several of the things I was really dreading did not come to pass. One did, but it didn’t kill me, and it won’t. I have options.  The work I have done is adequate. The work I will do is not too late, and is pretty much as good as anyone else could do. I am contributing to my corner of the world. 

Also today, I read the following from Dad Gone Mad - about how we project our insecurities into the world, in his case into his perception of his relationship with his wife, in my, more minor case, my perception of my work in general. 

 

That’s the depression. When virtually every cognitive process—logic, concentration, memory—is lying face-down on the canvass, the brain becomes lost and aimless, and negativity becomes the rule of law. 

Read the rest here, its a great, great piece.  

So,  spring has come at last, the clouds have parted, and there is great rejoicing.

Spring, when a young man’s fancy…

Or woman’s, for that matter. And not so young, I am always re-discovering.

I’m having a hard time with this spring thing. I’ve been so lookng forward to it, and now it has arrived I am without means to enjoy it. I am behind at work, at the office and at home and behind in sleep. I am infected with a cold, lethargy and (harrmph) desire.
Desire to sleep probably tops the list, but something in new buds, re-appearing plants and fresh-air smells makes me long for freedom to lie in the sun with a beloved, gossiping and cuddling – canoodling even!
I am pining for a simpler time when I could chose how to spend my time and with whom.

But the good news is I now have a big outdoor space of my own, with its attenuated pressure of upkeep. I am uncertain of how to proceed, but excited at the prospect.  We have so much space, in fact, that there is talk amongst the household of building a playhouse, a treehouse, or, at least in my own mind, an outhouse to accomodate the hormonally afflicted (such as A Bad, Bad Webbis proposes). 

I hope to promote a lifestyle that involves significant outdoor time, whether that involves secluding the hormone-challenged or not. I dream of long lazy days spent puttering in the garden, spontaneous picnics, people over to eat and enjoy the greenspace. Given a husband who hates eating outdoors, this poses something of a challenge.

Never mind, I am also blessed with a substantial, safely fenced blacktop area. This could be where the girls learn to appreciate all things wheeled, and I learn to rely on wrist pads and helmets.

So, really, I have nothing to complain about. Except this heavy dose of lethargy and, well, spring fever. Time to get on with the cavorting and quit this snivelling.

One step forward

There is very little I haven’t read about how to get a good sleep, but amongst the tricks, hints, suggestions and studies, nothing I ever read suggested getting separate coverings if you share a bed. Amazingly, it works like a hot damn. No more fighting or fidgeting over the blankets, just a warm soft duvet all your own.

However, it makes me a little sad. Long gone are the days when BH and I would lie entwined together (given our predilections for bedspace, it was probably the second or third time we slept together that we gave up that pretense of romance!), yet I feel like in adopting separate bedding we have given up something big. Something dramatic. The act of sliding under the same sheets and having each other, well, close at hand, not separated by piles of bedding, was important somehow. Now we merely lie on the same surface, where, with sufficient excavation, we can touch.

It doesn’t help that some time ago, I took up the expression “splitting the sheets”* to describe couples who have gone their separate ways.

So this separate bedlinen thing? It makes me uneasy. It just feels like a harbinger of something evil. And it keeps me awake nights wondering about our future. It’s a small death in our relationship, another step towards being two ancient folks merely cohabitating.
Or maybe that’s just daylight savings time, lack of exercise and spicy food?

 At any rate, despite the short term gain, I won’t be continuing this experiment when it comes time to switch out to summer bedding. I need my sleep.

(*I got this from a friend who is a fount of colourful sayings. Credit where credit is due – I sure as hell didn’t come up with it myself!)