The sun is out for the first time in days. The day is comfortable. Progress is being made in unpacking. The living room looks like a living room again.

Why the discontent?

Water finds its own level. So it is with the writer’s thoughts. As the imposed routines become fewer, the old routines have room to return. And with them, the questions, the thoughts, the realities I can’t control. One world, and another: I am not fully in either one.

I never want to see another “thing.” I never want to see another box. I never want to try to figure out how to cram two households into one house’s space. I never again want to doubt myself. I never want to see another rejection. I never want to have to promote myself in a job-search cover letter that an algorhythm reads and rejects.

I am fed up. Is it obvious?

We live in a world in which good enough is good enough. Where skill and will count for next to nothing. Where a head full of gold won’t bring the price of coal. Where all the talent in the world is an assurance of nothing. Is it any wonder, knowing these things, that I choose the created world?

I’m not a negative person. Really. This is tiredness and dust and clutter talking. And injustice. And unfairness.  Soon enough, I will dig myself out from under it. Tiredness will become energy. Dust will become sparkling cleanliness. Clutter will become order. Injustice and unfairness will still be there, but I will face it differently.

But that’s tomorrow. Today I am stamping my mental feet. I am saying bad words. I am grumping through a day that has vanished, somehow, from under me. I will write. I will smile. I will love–and like. I will have a glass of wine and sleep in. I will cherish all the wonderful things that are there to cherish.

Once I get past this mood.

 

 

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