I have two other posts in draft that I ought to publish because the topic is better, but they feel flat to me. Perhaps because this is the post that is entangled in my mind. Lately, I’ve felt this insatiable hunger. (If you follow me on twitter you would have heard all about it, in fact you should be following me on twitter.) No matter what I eat I feel unfulfilled. I said to E the other day that I’m trying to eat my feelings. He asked which feelings. Good Question.
I don’t know.
There is obviously something wrong, but unlike usual I cannot pinpoint it. On paper everything is great. Even if you add up all the wrong pieces together, string them up and bind them, there is not enough for this. This appetite that cannot be suppressed. This cold ambivalence. I feel stagnant. Stuck in this mud of life and I don’t even have the energy to try and pull myself out, so I’m wallowing.
I think it’s my job. I think it’s spending so many hours here, my brain on pause. The boredom stifling me to the point where I don’t even want to read the endless amount of blogs that sit unread in my reader. I am still so disappointed that the job didn’t work out. I will try again in December with an email to the one, and then an email to the other perhaps in February. I will wave my hand saying, “I’m still interested! Pick me!” Maybe I’ll go through one more conference and then leave altogether. The problem is, I don’t want to start at the bottom and I don’t want to do fundraising anymore. I want to do consulting for the product I love so much.
There’s of course money too. I posted about my take on Occupy Wall Street, but I didn’t get into the details. I try not think about it, brush it under the rug. How much worse it really is than it seems. Just in time for the holidays.
Then well the insatiable appetite has led to even less clothing that could fit me. I went to Target and bought clothes there for the first time on Monday. Big Girl clothes. Spanx and their friends. Bras that could fit my face. Jeans in sizes that should only describe men’s shoes. When did this happen?
I would like to be pregnant again. It tugs at me, this longing. It scares me. This would be the last time. I want it, but I don’t want it to be the last time. Like when I first read the Harry Potter series I read so slowly, I couldn’t wait to get to the next page, but I didn’t want it to be over yet.
These are the things that are in my mind. Swirling together, but their mass doesn’t amount to whatever is going on. It’s not depression, at least not one I’ve ever known. Its indifference.
When did I become so indifferent in my life?