Somedays it’s just easier to empty your mind in coded words and colorful stories. Even when your brain is itching to tell the world every last detail about what has been sucking up every cell in your brain, you just can’t let it out there.
Sometimes it’s because you shouldn’t tell every story. Sometimes it’s because you just can’t find the words.
Today for me, it’s both.
Deja vu and deep-rooted fear of the worst always coming true, tells me that the grips of last winter have yet to let go. Things are just all too familiar to me. A tornado last year, this time, ripped through a town near by. A tornado this year just passed through again. This time last year my husband went in for a cold on this Wednesday, then ended up at a specialist on Thursday and came out with emergency spinal surgery on Friday. He has an appointment this Thursday (one year exactly give or take a day of course, pesky calendars) to see if the surgery took. He’s been hurting, and I fear the worst. It’s all too familiar to me, the timing (hello we had no food or fire wood last time, and guess what’s on my to-do list this weekend, yup, ‘ello deja vu), the situations… my mind is blurring the lines together. And throw in the special family situations and you end up with one huge ulcer of hey didn’t this just happen?!
Of course things have a chance of not turning out so bad this time around. And you really can’t live your life building up conspiracies and jumping at shadows. I’m defiantly not curled up into a fetile position rocking myself in a corner. But my mind won’t let go, not fully.
And this post really isn’t about my same old sob story from last winter, or how I use the word “And” too many times to start a sentence, this post is really about coping, and moving on.
What do you do when your brain is all splashing around in turmoil?
Apparently I nest. I’m talking nesting like Martha her self was on her way to visit. I’m scrubbing, scouring, dusting, PURGING CRAP, braiding rugs (don’t ask), flipping mattresses, knitting, decorating, planning and scheming in ways, if I didn’t act like I had add, that would put both Martha and Caroline Ingalls to shame.
You say we’re running low on bread? *shazamm* Here’s three loaves of HOMEMADE, fresh from the oven bread. Is that a spot on the wall? *kablam* The whole wall has been scrubbed back to the support beams.
Except there’s much less “shazamm and kablam” it’s more of taking a whole dang day to get it done, and then noticing the whole entire house is still a mess, and the baby minion just stuffed the couch full of soggy Cheerios and sent my computer mouse for a swim in my mug of coffee.
And why doesn’t the world re-name spring cleaning, Winter Cleaning? Who wants to clean in the spring when the sun finally appears once again?!
I might be loosing my mind. Maybe. Possibly.
But when you’re running around, throwing out your back, swearing to the heavens that this time you will get your home perfectly spotless so the day it hits 60* outside you can spend every moment frolicking in the grassy warm meadows and sharing Cheetos with the goat… you don’t think bad stuff. You don’t worry. You forget. I forget, and loosen up my stomach, relax the stern look across my face.
Busy stuff, is how I cope. It’s cheaper than drinking ;p.