A loss of momentum

What is it about winter?

I’ll tell you.

  1. It’s cold.
  2. It’s messy.
  3. It takes forever to get from point A to point B.
  4. All you want to do is stay in and be a sloth.
  5. The exposure to inspiration drops to an all-time low.
  6. I eat pizza allll the time.
  7. I don’t exercise.

I think that’s enough to bring someone’s spirits down. Keep in mind, I recognize my own first world problems. And yes, this isn’t Russia. Therefor my toilets work, winter won’t be forever and we have bourbon instead of vodka. I’ll be okay.

But this particular winter has made me not only a believer in SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder), but also a self-diagnosed sufferer.

 

Dear Sun,

When again will I bask in thine glory? When again will my dog’s walks not end when he starts to lick his paws? When will I be able to frolic through the polluted city air and rid myself of these horrid muffin tops? WHEN?!

Genuinely yours… forever… upon your return,
Sara

Hold on there, cowboy

2013-10-26 14.03.10 (2)

Who decided that this is the most wonderful time of the year?

I disagree.

Let it be any damn well time of the year I want it to be. Hell, I might make songs about it.

It’s the most wonderful time of the year!
With tree leaves a falling,
And jacket weather calling,
Let’s have two more beeeeeers!
Fall’s the most wonderful time of the year!

Thank you, thank you very much. No, please hold your applause.

I guess that there wasn’t an entire season about how we’re having the best time we will all year… and it’s typically stressful emotionally, on the purse strings, not to mention it’s fucking cold (geographically dependent).  I’d just like to be the one who is allowed to call out my most wonderful time of the year. And the best part of all is that it’s not static. No, sir! The best part of this year may be the worst part of next year!

Ah, the truth to the magic 8-ball that is life.

So here’s to everyone on this, our New Year’s Eve. Remember your old acquaintance and do whatever the hell you want. 2014 is your oyster. Dig in.

Do you ever?

Feel like you’re nothing?

I go through phases. I either feel fantastic about my accomplishments or I feel as though I have zero accomplishments. It’s one or the other; there is no middle ground, no gray area.

And all that’s fine. I think most people go through times when they question themselves and wonder just what in the hell they’re doing with their lives.

But here’s the thing.

I still can’t figure out what these impossible standards of mine mean. Why can’t I let them go? Why can’t I set my own standards from scratch? I want to set standards that have no memory, no history. I want to set standards for myself that are solid and real without guilt attached.

Should is a damned word.

But, I shouldn’t feel as though I don’t matter. And I shouldn’t judge myself based on a fleeting feeling. And I shouldn’t always be a swinging pendulum going from one extreme to another. And I shouldn’t.

But I do.

Fresh start?

People never want to start over if things are going well. Because why would they? Starting over from zero is easier/better/more enticing than continuing on in the negative.

So, a fresh start? What does that mean? It means that things have recently been overcooked, garbled and ultimately disappointing. So is a fresh start really what you’re looking for? Or are you looking in a panic for the do-over button? Are you looking for a time machine? Are you looking for a way to set things back to the way they were? Hubbell?

What are you looking for? For what are you looking? A way to end a question without preposition?

So what’s better? To start over or to try to make sense of the mess? The mess. How did it become a mess? How did it become a situation that has been deemed beyond repair? How did it become something that was unable to be fixed? Did it? Or did you all of a sudden become too weak?

There’s a breaking point. But it’s a point of observation. It’s a point at which you should investigate, study what the issues are and how to solve them. Not a point to actually break. Right?

Right?

But moving through is hard. Harder than staring over. Hence my point.

The easy way out isn’t the best way out, most of the time. Who in the hell decided on that design? But it’s good. It’s a design that pushes us. It pushes us to be stronger and it pushes us to discover our own identity and it pushes us to find the limits of our potential.

But it’s hard. It’s never easy. But in the end, it’s worth it.

Right?

***This rant excludes people who had something unimaginably terrible happen to them, including natural disasters, unexpected diseases/deaths, unfortunate loss, etc.

The night before I have to grow up

I turn 30 tomorrow. I don’t know why, but it’s kind of freaking me out. However, the thought of turning, say, 32 doesn’t freak me out. But something about crossing that threshold is making me feel… je ne sais quoi. It’s not quite melancholy and it’s definitely not nostalgia. But it feels like I’m about to walk through a door and leave something behind.

“They” say that your 30s are better than your 20s because you know yourself (or at least better than before). I suppose that is inevitably true. I’m looking forward to that because my 20s have kind of felt like a hot mess at times. Who am I? Where am I going? What am I doing? Why am I doing this? Is it supposed to look like that? What’s that smell? Etc. But I’m hopeful and optimistic that there will be less questions in the next decade. Either that or I hope that I choose not to let the unanswerable questions get me down.

So here I sit. I’ve done the dishes, the laundry is put away, the floor has been vacuumed, the dog has been walked and I’m responsibly enjoying a refreshing after-work beer. The big plan for my last night of my 20s? Watch some streaming television, read and turn in early.

And as for tomorrow? For the big day? I’ve taken off from work, having imagined that I would do something AMAZING! But I ended up scheduling an annual physical that I’ve missed for the past 7 years. Lame, right?

Naturally, however, there will be a delicious dinner, because what is getting older without a solid meal for which animals have given their lives so that I may enjoy their flesh?

I don’t know. It feels like it’s about to be big, but I know it’s going to be anti-climactic and fizzle out without much ado. Which is the best I could hope for, I guess.

But I still can’t shake this feeling. Maybe it’s indigestion.